


Staring into the sun

by Original_Cypher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Superpowers, X-Men like AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X-Men like AU.</p><p>Our protagonists are attending Beacon Hills Academy, an institution for 'specials'. They've been detected early on, and some of them are showing spectacular abilities already. The Hales are a genetic mystery all together. Stiles, however, despite having being singled out as a kid, is nothing special. And he knows it.<br/>Circumstances and people – read <i>Peter</i> – conspire to put Stiles and Derek together. Changes ensue.<br/>Then all hell breaks loose.</p><p>***</p><p>There are two characters guest staring from other fandoms. One from KickAss, one from Flashpoint. You do not need to have seen the movie or tv show to understand this fic, and it does not contain spoilers for either of them.<br/>Spoilers for Teen Wolf are very few, since it's an AU. Mostly characters from S2 and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapters One & Two

Stiles doodles in the margin of his notebook, paying Professor Deaton very little attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mindy – she goes by Hit Girl and holy hell, does she deserve the title no matter how nonthreatening she might appear at first glance – twirl her pen around the end of one of her pigtails. It's interesting, being in a school like the Beacon Hills Academy, in a class that's composed of heterogeneous ages and… _specials_. It makes it a bit difficult to explain his daily life to his dad, but... Heck, he doesn't even know how he made the Sheriff even believe he was attending Vet school. Vet school? Stiles Stilinski?

He isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. He's pretty sure Scott and their legendary bromance has something to do with his dad's acceptance. The man simply gave him a speech about making sure he didn't choose his life path according to someone else's plan. It was very touching.

To be honest, he did choose his path according to someone else's plan, but it wasn't Scott's. It wasn't even Old Hale or Deaton's, even though their 'recruitment' had felt very much like a mandatory application. If he believed in God – they haven't been on acknowledgment terms since his mom's passing – he might have said it was _His_ plan. But he's settled with... nature. Chaos theory and causality. Randomness.

Nobody _made_ him what he is. He just is. And now he's learning to live with it. He's learning to deal with the fact that, just like regular humans don't know why they're born, he will never know why he was born _that way_. And maybe possibly learning to help, too.

Jackson leans over to whisper something to Danny and the brunette smirks, looking over somewhere to Stiles' right. As bored as he is, he refuses to follow the gaze, knowing that two rows ahead of him, on his right, is Derek Hale.

Being in a class with younger and older kids is pretty cool. He actually loves Mindy, she's a firecracker – he's not really surprised she and Lydia are related – but being in such an environment also involves having very hot 24 year old wet dream model guys in your field of vision all day everyday, taunting.

The fact that Stiles recently became legal doesn't give him any illusions. He's the king of unrequited. Just ask his former flame, Lydia. His ridiculous infatuation with Derek is hopeless. The guy hates Stiles almost as much as Jackson does.

Not that it means a lot that it's less than Jackson, Whittemore is a jackass of epic proportions, that's all. Literally, he's a cold hearted douche. He turns water into ice. And given that there is some proportion of water in the air, it means he can do it anywhere, and anytime. He's had fun creating black ice spots on Stiles' path for his own distraction since they were kids. Asshole. So yeah, Stiles hates him right back.

Derek's hatred doesn't feel any more pleasant, but at least it seems less personal. Derek hates everyone.

Sometimes, Stiles envies the powers he sees around him on a daily basis. Sometimes he thinks of how simpler life is when you don't have any of this shit to think about.

But these abilities, though. It takes a bigger man that Stiles is not to... drool over them. Danny can see through walls. Walls! It's awesome! And creepy. A little bit.

Scott, Stiles' blue sky and sun, is able to run faster than a speeding car. Stiles remembers the day he raced Jackson's Porsche and the billionaire was so _pissed_ he almost crashed his precious baby trying to catch up. Since, he's found revenge on calling him Scott Swift – something the whole school adopted with delight upon hearing Scott listened to Allison's Taylor Swift albums.

Speaking of the pretty brunette, Allison is a tech whisperer, a technopath. That's what Stiles calls her, anyway. She can get inside a computer, an electronic chip, a dishwasher' motherboard and retrieve any info, or bend it to her will. To an extent. Deaton says in time she'll be able to do a lot more and from a distance.

Boyd sources energy from... a lot of things. Running car engines, storms, sunlight. It's already impressive and Peter says it will be much more later on. Boyd is a giant and already goes superhuman when he releases the energy, but apparently it is limitless. Stiles can understand the concept in theory: if you can source the sun, you have a good long while until you're tapped out. But in reality, he can't wrap his mind around it. He doesn't have empathic abilities, but he can tell Boyd is terrified by the implications. Deaton is keeping a close eye on him and Boyd is understandably very careful in his explorations of limits.

Isaac creates sparks and controls fire. It's pretty great on the 4th of July.

Greenberg turns into slime. Which is... fitting.

Derek... Derek's another story. Having hereditary abilities isn't unheard of. Most come from genetic mutations and they can be passed on through generations. Mostly, though, they pop up randomly all over the gene pool. The Hales case is very specific, however. They have passed on pretty much the same characteristics through centuries of family tree. Deaton is fascinated. And every time he looks so, Derek huffs and looks like he wants to disappear, while Peter just _preens_.

They can turn into wolves. Actual, mother freaking wolves. How cool is that?! They have two options. A complete wolf out, becoming a creature that legends, horror movies and nightmares are made of – a wolf that looks a lot like the actual animal, only much larger –, and a partial wolf out, claws and twisted facial features, fangs and glowy weird eyes but... somewhat human silhouetty.

He's only ever seen Derek in the hybrid state. Peter had explained the full change is harder to control and Derek didn't feel comfortable with it yet. He felt dangerous. That was a while ago, but he might still have control issues, if the conversation Stiles overheard recently between him and Boyd is anything to go by. Boyd approached him about Chi and mentioned exercises to center oneself. Derek snorted but listened with attention.

Watching Derek shift in his chair and flip a page on his notebook, Stiles realizes he's failed in his attempt not to stare at or think of Derek for the entire class.

Anyway, powers.

Erica-...

 _-Are you not focusing again?-_ Stiles jumps and recoils in his seat. _-I'm not giving you my notes if all you've done during this class is stare at Derek's ass.-_

And _Lydia_... Lydia's a freaking telepath.

And a mind reader, apparently.

He glares at his desk and thinks _loudly_. _-I can't see his ass from here.-_

 _-Aha!-_ He can picture Lydia's victorious smirk. Her abilities have developed so well that she can now channel someone else and allow them to communicate an answer back to her. _-You were looking.-_

 _-Shut up.-_ He counters. _-I was thinking about all of you guys and your powers.-_

He can almost feel her start to answer, but Deaton calls the end of the class so instead, she gives him _a look_ and walks over to Jackson.

Stiles often wonders what Lydia's boyfriend would do to him if he ever learned they were friends. Talking-at-night-while-lying-in-bed-in-separate-wings-of-the-house friends. It makes him wish he could turn invisible, just in case Jackson ever found out.

Sometimes Stiles wonders why she picked him to begin with, to be her secret confident. Was it because of his relationship with Jackson? She often used their talks to vent about him. Was it because of the worship/crush he had on her while growing up? Is it why she started talking to him as it began to wane?

Once upon a time, having Lydia's voice in his head sighing about calculus exams while he lay in bed in the dark would have done very different things to Stiles. These days now, it's like talking to a close friend on the phone.

Close, but hidden.

He doesn't know how he feels about that. He never dared asking her why.

His attention snaps back to the present when Scott is being playfully shoved into his side, sending the pens in Stiles' hand skittering across his desk and on the floor. Someone is teasing Scott. “...-not like Boyd can't do what you can and so much more.”

“At least he's not like Stiles, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn't do nothing. Why is he even here?”

“Pssh, I dunno. Ask Peter. Guy loves him. Maybe he's his pet.”

“Like a rent boy or something?”

Stiles has become used to ignoring the insults over the years. Being singled out as special but not showing any sign of power growing up while all your friends in the 'special school' started doing amazing things around age seven has familiarized him with concepts like 'lower class' and 'social outcast'. Scott was a late bloomer, that's how they bonded. Up until he was almost fifteen his running didn't seem superhuman. Now, though. Now, he's left Stiles in the dust. Quite literally.

They're still friends though. Because Scott is awesome and loyal and he doesn't give a fuck about what people think of weirdo Stiles.

The more pressing matter, in this precise moment, however, is whether Derek Hale is going to hurt him.

Stiles stares, terrified, as Derek stops in his tracks, foot hovering over the ground to avoid stepping on his pencil and ruler. His eyebrows are stormy when he levels his gaze at Stiles.

Stiles squeaks something that, to his ears at least, resembles a 'sorry'. Derek huffs and takes a longer step over the mess.

And suddenly, Stiles has enough of the hostility for a day. He lets his backpack fall from his shoulder with a stony face. “You good, Scott? On your way to your study date with Allison, right?”

“Yeah. You're not coming?”

“No. Sorry for ditching. I really wanna go run.”

 

 

@@@

 

Running is cathartic for Stiles. Scott doesn't get it anymore. He's forgotten what it feels like to fight against the pain when it gets too hard, to get the rush of adrenaline and the tunnel vision – tunnel mind, too, which Stiles really, really appreciate considering his ADHD – that comes with it. For Scott's it's become effortless. Well, until he hits the hundred K, but... that doesn't happen every day.

Stiles runs for nearly an hour, along the fields, the school grounds and deep into the forest. He's a bit sad that BHA isn't like Hogwarts and the forest isn't forbidden. The most dangerous things you can find in it would be the students, those who actually care for nature. He knows the Hales like to run in it too, being in touch with the animal side and all, but he's pretty certain they'll stay clear of him without even him noticing.

Well, Derek, at least. Peter is a little...

He's nice. But he gets _creepy_.

The professor has a strange fascination with Stiles. He's the one that 'detected' him and always insisted – sometimes, despite Stiles' protests – that he stay in school even without developed powers. And he loves to blur the lines between the wolf and the man. Not physically, but through behavior. Sometimes, when he's teaching and telling some story he really likes, he'll have a low growl in his throat that almost sounds like a purr. He'll do that a lot _at_ Stiles, too. And he sniffs at people. At _Stiles_.

It's _weird_. If this was fiction, the Hales would be things like werewolves and Peter acts like he would want to recruit Stiles. Turn him.

Okay. Full disclosure. Were it possible, Stiles would be terribly tempted. Because the stuff he's seen Derek do just half wolfed out or in complete human form are _amazing_. Not Boyd-like impossible to imagine, but... pretty damn stunning.

And who wouldn't want to turn into the monster you thought were under your bed – or in Stiles' case, outside your bedroom window – as a kid? He'd have a damn dilemma.

(Un)lucky for him, you're either born that way, or you're not. So he's just Stiles.

He walks back to the school grounds along the field where Jackson and his friends play Lacrosse when they have spare time from having girlfriends and social lives. He has to wipe the sweat from his brow on his bare arm, which proves somewhat ineffective, and regrets not wearing his wristband. He hates it, though. The damn thing is itchy, and it makes one spot too warm. But damn, does it come in handy.

He's blinking furiously - sweat _stings_ \- and in a hurry to jump in the showers when he gets to the locker room. Water is running, but it's not until he walks in on a completely nude, wet, naked, gorgeous and _bare_ Derek Hale, standing under the spray in a puddle of foam, that he reconsiders his ability to handle common showers. With anyone. Ever.

What exactly happens is: Stiles walks in, Derek looks up, Stiles lets out a very manly ' _eeep!_ ' and scrambles backwards around the wall so hastily that he falls over.

He went from 'cardio' to 'V fib' in two seconds flat.

Stiles isn't sure because the sharp pain on his backside and the embarrassment cloud his mind for a little while, that and the picture seared into his brain – he doesn't know if he hates himself or loves himself for not actually having registered Derek's junk – but he may hear Derek laugh quietly over the wall.

He winces as he sits up and rubs the wrist he used to break his fall. “You okay?”

Derek is standing a few feet away from him, wrapped in a towel that is both too small and way too big for Stiles' liking. _Eyes up there, Stilinski,_ he chastises himself. He's pretty sure everyone down to the teachers know of his infatuation, but he would love to be able to keep it under control. Maybe he should talk to Boyd about Chi.

_Focus, Stiles!_

“Yeah!” he blurts out. “Yeah. I'm... oddly used to landing on hard surfaces until I bruise.” He pushes himself up. “Only most of the time Jackson's somehow involved.”

Derek nods. It's not a blank stare of 'what is this creature that makes noise at me?' that he has been known to give Stiles at times. For a guy as broody and solitary as Derek, a nod at an attempt at humor is as good as a grin from Scott.

He's probably reading too much into it but Stiles reads too much into _everything_ when it comes to Derek.

Derek looks him over briefly, as if checking if Stiles is somehow lying and needs a wheelchair, then heads towards his gym bag. Meanwhile, Stiles is busy being utterly mesmerized by the way his hair is flat on his head instead of the usual gelled up.

Somewhere in the back of Stiles mind, it registers the possibility that Derek might have been running the woods too.

“Nice... ink,” he blurts out despite himself as he tries not to watch Derek slip black jeans directly under his towel. In his defense, he isn't exactly known for his self control.

Derek glances back at him, yanking the towel off. He doesn't look murderous. He'll count that as a win.

“Familly crest, right?”

Derek nods, grabs his bag with one hand and walks off, towel still balled in his fist.

“Okay.” Stiles says and turns towards the showers. “Good talk.”

 

* * *

 

2.

 

Stiles swings a little higher this time, above the knee, and Erica lands from her jump heavily. She hisses at him, features more feline than they were a second before. The staff is steady in his hand as he shifts his balance on the ground. “Easy, Cat Woman. We don't have to keep doing this.”

Stiles is pretty handy with martial arts that require any type of blunt weapon. Staffs, clubs, bo staffs. Somehow, all his usual flailing has allowed him to embrace the objects as extensions of himself without much effort.

Compared to the weapons the others handle – most of them _inbuilt_ –, it doesn't seem like much, and he's gotten some grief for it. However, an unfortunate challenge from Jackson a few months back has made people lay off this particular argument.

It happened in Old Hale's class. Jackson was teasing Stiles as Peter corrected his hold on a specific movement. “Oh please, I can take you.” Aggravated by a frustrating training session and hours of merciless teasing, Stiles let the snark slip.

In an instant, Jackson was on his feet and snarling at him.

Old Hale backed off the mat and smirked, saying that such a duel would be a perfect illustration of very different fighting styles and the way they came together. Stiles had a moment of panic, imagining Jackson taking pleasure into beating him into a pulp in front of everyone. Then he readjusted his grip on the wood and on his anger. He thought, _I can do this_.

He was right about the fight being vicious. Jackson aimed for pain, and Stiles came pretty close to taking a blow to the face. Eventually, he started to notice that what Jackson had over him in strength, he lacked in speed, and his moves weren't very imaginative. He didn't telegraph them much, but Stiles managed to avoid his hits and dance around him after a while. He started aiming a few jabs at the other teen, both rejoicing and dreading the furry he saw mounting in his eyes.

Eventually, Jackson grabbed at his staff and froze it, using a good stomp to break it. Scott protested that it was unfair, but Peter argued that in life they would have to face dangers that played dirty. Jackson smiled at that, satisfied with the idea that he had basically been given a license to hurt Stiles. Peter, however, gave Stiles him a look that conveyed his faith in his ability to hold his own. It was both disturbing and comforting. Fired up by the offense that it had been _his_ staff that he had paid for with his own money, Stiles clenched his jaw and flipped it around, swinging it quicker now that it was lighter and shorter. It caught Jackson in the legs with all Stiles' strength behind it, dropping him on the mat.

Jackson howled in pain and cried fowl, but Peter shrugged and said he'd been asking for it. Stiles dropped his broken staff on the recumbent kid and spat “You owe me a new one.”.

He hadn't really expected Jackson to pay for new equipment, but, a few days later, he found a brand new staff by his bed. To this day, he wonders who paid for it.

“I need to train more.” Erica huffs, bringing Stiles back to the present. “I want to be able to keep up with Boyd.”

Stiles gives her a disbelieving look.

“No, I mean... I know it's not possible. But I want to be in the same squad. I want to graduate when he does.”

Stiles lets his arms fall at his sides and shifts to a normal standing stance. “Oh, you and... Huh. Since when?”

Erica bites her lip, cheeks coloring slightly, and shrugs. “I dunno. A few weeks. We took a walk together and... He's really sweet.”

Stiles smiles. “I'm happy for you.”

She flushes more and shakes her head. “I'm not talking boys with you,” she insists. “Guh! No way. Not unless we're talking about you.”

“Hey!” Stiles shakes his staff at her in a parody of a threat. “I don't know what it is with chicks and gay guys, but there is no way I'm telling you jack.” Like how bad his dreams have become since a certain brooding character has taken to making naked guest appearances in them.

“It's hot!” Erica justifies, picking up her water bottle and taking a swig. “God, I am so done. See you for dinner?”

“Okay.” Stiles watches her head for the showers and considers his options. He's itching for something. If he doesn't burn out the energy, he'll be bouncing off the walls until late into the night.

He goes running again.

This time it takes him forty minutes to quiet his mind and get the satisfying buzz in his limbs he aimed for. He gets back, pleasantly aching and tired. When he walks into the locker rooms, Derek is shouldering his gym bag, on his way out. Why do they have to keep running into each other here? Or at all for that matter?

At least no one's naked this time.

Derek looks up at him, and Stiles unroots himself from the threshold he's frozen on and heads for his locker. He was going to ignore Derek, but he has apparently caught the guy in the one day out of the year he feels like talking.

“You know...” Derek says quietly, somewhere behind him and Stiles tries not to startle too hard. “Aside from my uncle and I, you're the only one who runs those tracks in the woods.”

Stiles blinks at Derek, who's looking at him matter of factly. Like it's entirely normal for them to be talking about this and that the affirmation makes a lick of sense.

“I am?” So what? Is it Hale property or something? “Wait... How do you know? Are you tracking my scent?!”

“I'm not! I'm...” Derek frowns, leaning back slightly. “I happen upon it. You're... potent.”

“Oh my god! Are you saying I stink?!” Stiles feels hurt, because as much as Derek has displayed hostility towards him before, he's never felt like a target. Derek never taunted him or insulted him. He's shoved him out of his way and been physically intimidating, but Stiles never thought he was special. Derek _hated_ people in his space. In his proximity. Or in his field of vision. Derek had been the exception, being a dick to Stiles just as much as he was to anyone else, treating him on equal footing with the rest of 'the specials'. Derek likes his space, but to the best of Stiles' knowledge, he's never been _mean_.

Derek opens his mouth and closes it. After a while he says. “I'm saying you're sweaty when you run. It makes your scent stronger.” Stiles knows he must be red in the face and look offended and mortified. Derek almost says something else but seems to think better of it, shaking his head and stalking off, muttering to himself. “This is why I don't talk to people.”

Stiles is left to stare at his retreating back and wonders why he fought so hard to stay in this school. Everybody hates him. And those who don't, safe for Scott, bless his simple soul, can't be bothered with him. He's had more interaction with Derek over the past few days than during the entire school year, but he's not really sure it's a good thing.

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles is hugging his knees to his chest, feet on the chair and nose buried between his knees when he feels something small hit his head and bounce off. He lifts his face and blinks confusedly at the blinding bright smile that greets him. “Hey, sourbunny. What's with the long face?” Mindy asks, hopping on the chair next to him.

He frowns judgmentally at her until she picks up the candy wrapper and lobs it into a nearby trashcan with ease. “Didn't you just get out of Deaton's office?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “He says he'll come out and get you in a moment. He's got some stuff to finish.” She rolls her eyes. “You know how he is with taking notes and shit.”

Stiles unfolds himself and sighs. “How'd it go?”

“Says I'll be able to kill soon.” Her smile is seriously scary considering her affirmation. “Dude, stop staring at me like that. I _could_ , I don't wanna. Unless...” She taps her finger on her chin. “... you tell me who's got you so mopey.”

“I'm not moping. I'm tired.” He corrects. “Nobody's doing anything to me. I'm just... I guess I need a break.”

She crosses her arms and looks at him. She seems to accept his answer and stays silent for a minute. “What do you do with Deaton anyway? You know, since you don't _do_ anything.” Which isn't entirely true, Stiles thinks, but it's not like he's going to correct her.

Deaton and Peter reserve hour long sessions to take students one on one and tutor them on their specific abilities. “Would you believe me if I said breathing exercises?” It's not even a lie. All the running he's been doing is for cardio and endurance. Apparently Deaton thinks yoga breathing techniques will help him gain focus and push his limits.

He's getting pretty tired of limits.

Mindy gives him a look like she's going to argue, but Deaton saves the situation by opening his door and gesturing Stiles in.

Stiles curls back into his protective posture as soon as he takes a seat. Seances with Deaton always make him feel, like he's seeing a shrink like when his mom died. Except Deaton is more perceptive than that. At first, Stiles thought it was his ability, but Deaton does plant manipulation. His office looks like a rainforest.

He always asks questions Stiles can't give him an answer to.

“Why do you think you're not sleeping well?”

Because he's eighteen and horny as fuck and everyone is hooking up _but_ him and Derek fucking Hale put on a goddamn show for him that's seared into his eyes?

“Do you think it may have something to do with guilt?” Deaton's voice is gentle and coaxing.

Stiles blinks at him. “Guilt?”

“You've spent a long time here feeling like you didn't belong. And now that you could, you've decided to hide your abilities from your friends. Is it possible you feel bad about concealing the truth?”

Is it? He's never thought about it that way. But then he's trapped now. He would have to explain why he didn't say anything sooner. A few times, he's thought about coming clean and decided that he'd rather go one more year until graduation and come out to whatever unit he integrated later. “You mean _friend_ , right? Singular.”

“What about Erica and Isaac? You seem pretty close with the cousins.”

Stiles huffs. “I wouldn't say that. They don't hate me. Which is a plus.”

“And Allison Argent?”

“Like she'd give me the time of day if Scott wasn't my best friend. And don't go saying Mindy because she's friends with everyone. I've even seen Derek smile at her. Once.”

Deaton stays silent for a while. He's expressed his disapproval about Stiles' poor self esteem countless times, to no avail. Stiles is the ugly duckling and he knows his place on the social map. He wonders how it is that every generation seems to forget how things work once they get past thirty. Is it senility already?

“What about Lydia Martin?” Deaton asks eventually.

“Wha-... What about her?”

The professor gives him a calculating look. “She talks about you a lot, you know.”

Really? “She does?”

“She told me about the... unusual way she's chosen to practice.”

“Oh.” Oh shit. Did she say _when_? Like in class and, oh god, in _bed._

She probably didn't mention class judging from the way Deaton is watching him. He looks pleased and somewhat like someone who has a secret. “She seems to care a lot about you.”

Stiles finds himself smiling. “I like her a lot too.”


	2. Chapters Three & Four

3.

 

“Allison told Lydia says you'll probably end up Valedictorian.” Scott says, swatting the ball with his paddle and sending it back towards Stiles.

“Isn't it a little early to call it?” Stiles runs to the other end of the table and smacks the ball back towards his best friend. “Like a year early?”

“It's either you or her, anyway. Everybody knows that.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles bites his lip, backhands the ball artfully and Scott fails to catch it. He whoops a little and watches Scott super-speed the short distance to retrieve it.

“I think Derek won't be far behind. And Boyd.”

Stiles ignores the tightness in his throat. “Really?”

“I dunno. Apparently lonely broody types are into studies.”

“Yeah. Great.”

“And then Allison.” Scott glows with pride, like he's announcing his girlfriend's been shortlisted to win the Nobel Prize.

“What about you?” Stiles asks, focusing as Scott serves.

There's a silence, Scott flips the racket in his hands a few times and eventually plays. “I'm failing three classes.”

The ball whizzes by Stiles, who's too busy staring at Scott in disbelief. “Are you _serious_?!”

 

@@@

 

If Stiles had any doubts Deaton had ratted him out to Old Hale, he doesn't have any anymore. Which, okay, it's fair, Peter's been Stiles' biggest advocate, but still... Confidence!

Professor Hale is pairing his students in teams of two students to work on essays for 'History of superhuman abilities'. For this class, Peter sometimes retold events in History that read completely different when you knew there were specials involved – like say.... Hitler's Wehrmacht base camp called 'Werewolf' in Vinnitsa, Urkraine, where Nazi researchers tried to earnest DNA properties of Derek's great uncle. Sometimes, Peter told them how specials masqueraded as normal people throughout the ages and the societies they founded, some more discreet than others. _The Illuminati_ , really? The guise of a cult to science of all things, when they were pure science fiction?

Lately, they broached the subject of some specials, on their own or in groups, that started thinking they're better than regular humans. Peter doesn't really condemn the idea that they were 'superior' itself, but he did give a clear speech about how it gives them the duty to be superheroes, and does _not_ make them rulers by birthright or godlike creatures.

Stiles isn't sure all specials are better. They're just special. He couldn't really find how Greenberg's power makes him superior. Or how Nancy's life is more awesome than a regular human's because every time she sneezes, everything around her made of glass or porcelain or very rigid plastic shatters.

The smile Peter gives Stiles when he announces he's going to be pairing the students himself makes his blood run cold. It's not his usual 'you look like a snack' look. This time it makes Stiles feel like a fly who's just realized it's standing in the middle of a web. And that the spider is a wolf.

Yeah, okay. His metaphor sucks, but the feeling still applies.

“Stiles, I would like you and Derek to work on the subject 'Hiding one's self and the effect it has on control'.”

Stiles gapes at Peter, scandalized that he would pick such a transparent subject for their essay.

And _Derek_?

Why?! Why does the universe has to do that to him? Why does Peter have to be such a cruel active participant. That enjoys it.

Peter gives him an encouraging smile, with just an edge of smugness. Most people in the class are watching them. The staring contest between Peter and the two students seems loaded. Because it is, and it involves Derek too, who's clearly having a silent conversation with his uncle of his own.

Eventually, Derek turns in his seat and catches Stiles' eye. They look at each other, quizzical. Stiles thinks Derek doesn't look like it's the worst day of his life, so maybe... maybe he's okay with that? A little? He looks pissed. But when doesn't he look pissed?

Stiles gives the faintest nod and huffs, looking down at his hands. Peter calls out the other parings. _-My, my, what was that all about?-_

Stiles can't help himself, he whips around and glares at Lydia. She looks smug and amused. Jackson glares daggers at Stiles.

Great. Just... perfect.

When he looks back, Derek is staring at him like he's a puzzle. He looks like someone who's got an answer on the tip of his tongue.

Stiles whimpers and lets his head drop on his arms.

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott's voice hisses quietly from his right.

Stiles can't help it. He laughs.

 

 

@@@

 

Allison is having a staring contest with the kettle. She's absently tapping her nails on the counter as she waits for the water to heat up.

“I though this was broken.” Stiles says from the door.

“Oh, Jesus!” Her hand flies to her chest and she whips around.

He gives her a contrite smile. “Sorry.”

“Hi. Uh, yeah. It is.” She glances back at the kettle, which starts to emit the hissing of heating water again.

Stiles adds two plus two and gets, “You're powering it?”

“No. Well, I could, but that's not what I'm doing.” She gestures towards the object. “The chip that's supposed to tell it to heat up when it's 'on' is not responding. So I'm sending the 'go' instead. Practicing, you know. No contact influence.”

“Oh. Right. Nice job.” She can do things without touching already? _Damn._

Allison gives him dimpled smile. “Hey, you want some tea while I'm at it?”

He grins back. “Sure.”

 

 

@@@

 

 _-Allison totally loves you.-_ Lydia insists. _-You're like a side dish of awesome next to her precious boyfriend. Of course she loves you.-_

Stiles turns over the cooling mug in his hands. He's sitting on top of his covers, back against the headboard and legs crossed at the ankles. He's not sure about love, but maybe Deaton was right. She might like him for him a little bit. Maybe if he learned to open his eyes he would see he's not as alone in the world as he feels.

And here he was, thinking _that_ was everyone else's problem but his.

_-Fine. I'm awesome. Great. I'm the quirky gay bff to the cute couple. That's great! We all know how those story lines go. Nothing interesting ever happens to the sidekick.-_

_-I thought you were bi.-_

He huffs. _-Semantics. I'm a virgin, that's what I am. The hopeless kind.-_

_-Well, there's-...-_

_-Why do you hide me?-_ He cuts her. _-You and me. Why do you hide it?-_

There's a beat. _-Why do you hide your powers?-_

Shit.

So she did bust him. She's been able to read surface thoughts while touching people so far, but it's not like she ever touches him. No, Lydia Martin likes to play frivolous, but is in fact the most astute and intuitive person Stiles' ever met.

 _-Why do you hide yours?-_ He challenges back quietly.

 _-I don't.-_ She sounds confused.

It irritates him a great deal. He feels like a dirty little secret. Which probably isn't fun when you actually are one, but right now, he's just a secret. A lame one. And it suddenly _hurts_ not to be good enough to talk to in public. He usually manages to rise above everything and not give a shit, but he's _tired_ and old Hale's assignment has made him emotionally raw. It puts more venom into his reply than there should be. _-Really? So Jackson and everybody know you can make people talk back at you? Huh? And that the person you chose to do it with is me?-_

Lydia doesn't say anything after that. He can feel it at the back of his mind. The connection that would allow him to reach her stays active for a few minutes, like she's hoping he'll add something or apologize or... _something_ , but he doesn't and eventually it fades out.

He has trouble not feeling like she hung up on him.

 

* * *

 

 

4.

 

Stiles flips another page on the book and wonders if it's too late to seek out the others and join the party after all. He has no interest in being a drunken disorderly or partying with people that have made their contempt for him pretty clear, but Scott, Allison and Erica tried to get him to come, so if they're not already dead to the world, maybe-...

“I had a feeling I'd find you here.”

Stiles' pencil doesn't snap in his hand like he's a rom-com hero, but it's a near thing. “Derek? What are you doing here? Aren't you-...?” Stiles gestures vaguely in the direction of the outside.

“Getting smashed with a bunch of rowdy teenagers?” Derek makes a face. Of course, he's a loner. Stiles shouldn't be so surprised. “I think you get too old to attend that kind of party when you're too old to need a fake ID.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinks. “Right.”

“We're not the only ones here.” Derek shifts his old on his backpack strap and Stiles takes him in. He looks like he came here planning to do homework. “Mindy's out behind the gym doing target practice.” Derek's expression is troubled. “Did you know she puts pictures of Finstock on the mannequins she beheads?”

Stiles reels – Not form the news. He didn't know, but he can't say he's actually shocked –, Derek Hale is talking. Like.... making sentences. While not held at gunpoint. It's gotta be a first. Also, said sentences are directed _at him_.

“Can I join you?” Holy shit.

Stiles suddenly realizes that Derek's been standing awkwardly next to the chair beside him, waiting to be invited. “Uhh...”

“You look like you're working on the essay.” Derek points out, eyes pointedly trailing over the few books scattered around Stiles' things. All about control and the psychology of dissimulation. Right.

He'd hoped to get the maximum of it done on his own, so he could offer Derek to just put his name on the report and share the credit, but apparently the universe hates him.

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” He tries not to panic as Derek settles next to him. It feels weirdly intimate and exposed. The library is huge, and is never fully occupied, but right now, it's empty safe for the two of them. The two of them sitting side by side seems so deliberate, it's... unnatural. Nobody willingly joins Stiles, except for Scott, but Scott's like Stiles' brother. That's different.

He tries to get his heartbeat under control because he's pretty sure Peter can hear it when they're in class and he feels like he's being toyed with, so Derek can probably pick up on it too.

Derek doesn't seem to be paying attention, though. He's staring ahead and has an expression like he's steeling himself for something. He takes a deep breath and turns a little towards Stiles, but he doesn't meet his eyes.

“Peter-... My uncle is trying to get me to-...” Derek frowns, scratches at his eyebrow and licks his lips. That doesn't distract Stiles _at all_. “... I've been struggling with control. I try to keep that hidden. I think the, ah, essay is a set up. He thinks I should open up about it. To someone that's not... one of us.”

It stings. “Not special?”

“Not a Hale.”

“Oh.”

“I don't know why he's decided it should be you, but... he said if it doesn't show in what we hand out in the end, he'll fail me.”

Stiles does a double take. “Your uncle is blackmailing you?” So the essay is _not_ about him?

“I guess.”

“Wow. And here I was, thinking not telling my dad about my school was dysfunctional.”

Derek makes an amused noise, his lips curling a little.

 

@@@

 

Stiles isn't sure how it happens. After a few moments of stammering and frustrated struggles for words, they forgot to be awkward around the other. Stiles talked about some of the passages he'd highlighted so far and how they could relate to their essay. They managed to work out an outline of the parts and ideas they want to put in.

Stiles uncrosses his legs and works his spine, hand coming down to scratch at his stomach through his t shirt absently.

Derek ducks an eyebrow at him. “You know you're utterly ridiculous, right?” Stiles stops ratting of points on his fingers to glare at Derek and finds that he's looking at him upside down. “You look like a big cat. No wonder Erica likes you.”

Right. Because Stiles is lying on the table, perpendicular to Derek and he has to tilt his head back to actually look at him – which was kind of the point, at first, because he kept being distracted by the way his hair seems to be really soft behind his ear.

So what? He's bored. And it's after hours. The only thing managing to have him work uninterrupted this long is Derek, because he just wants this to never end. Even though he's the one talking, Derek is listening. And he hasn't glared _once_. “Shut up,” he says, like the grown up he is, and flushes.

Derek shakes his head and grins a little. Shit. Stiles wishes he was right side up now because that's not a sight you see everyday.

 _-You should have cooooome. This is fun. Do you even know fun?-_ Lydia's drunken voice rings through his head louder than necessary and makes him wince, effectively breaking the spell.

Stiles groans and rolls off to a sitting position, then climbs down to straddle his chair.

“Lydia talking to you?” Derek asks flatly.

Stiles' mind screeches to a halt. Reboots. “Wait... How do you know that?”

“You weren't exactly subtle the other day in class.”

“Right.” Stiles ducks his head and feels himself color again. He doesn't know if he can block Lydia out, he doubts he can, but he can ignore her. Play asleep. He what magical being intervened, but he's actually having a good time. And he's not ditching his best friend for Derek because a) Scott's his best friend – because even though he's grown pretty close and intimate with Lydia, Scott is fine with being seen in public with him – and b) Lydia ditches him for Jackson all the damn time. And c) he's not ditching her for Derek. He's ditching her for homework.

He checks, and no. His pants aren't actually on fire. Hm.

Neither he and Derek are fully at ease around each other, but his classmate's presence is making figuring out the essay a little less dull.

“So I should- I should tell you, right?” Derek is frowning at his hands.

Stiles thinks there should be an entire essay on Derek's eyebrows and their various meanings alone. He blinks.

“About why I... Why I won't...”

“Oh. Your control issues?” Stiles blurts out. It's a bad phrasing. Considering next in line was 'performance in front of an audience', he feels lucky calling Derek a control freak in subtext is all he did.

Derek makes a face like he's tasted something sour. “It's not... control, exactly. I _have_ control.” He struggles for words. “It's more of a blockage. I can't bring myself to... to shift in front of people. Not completely.”

“Okay.” Stiles says seriously. “You don't have to tell me why. But I feel like there _is_ a why. And that it's pretty damn important.”

Stiles' eyes get caught on the way Derek's throat works convulsively a few times. Then Derek suddenly springs off his chair and stalks off.

Stiles gapes after him, trying to figure out what just happened. He ponders calling after him to let him know he forgot his stuff, and wonders whether that would earn him physical pain.

He waits, but Derek doesn't come back. He stands up for a moment, then turns his chair back the normal way and sits back down, confused as hell. Should he have gone after him? Isn't that what people do when someone's talking about issues and suddenly runs off?

He's left too much time to even have a chance to pin down which way Derek went, so it's too late to try that now. He stares blankly at his notes for a while, then decides on thirty more minutes of work, and then bed.

He doesn't expect Derek to walk back in merely five minutes after he's stormed out. Stiles startles stiffly when he drops a heavy leather bound yearbook on the table. It's open to a class photo a few years old. Derek pokes his finger at a pretty brunette. “Remember her? My sister.”

“Laura. Yeah. I do.” Vaguely, because she must be six or seven years older than he is, but he remembers growing up and looking at the big kids, wondering what kind of ability he'd develop. If he was going to fly like that guy, or walk through walls like this one.

It's odd to realize Derek and Laura never had that. They knew what they would become from the moment they could understand was being special meant.

“She was one of the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen.” Derek says, and Stiles gets a bitter taste in his mouth at the tense.

“Was?”

He's pretty sure Derek's eyes aren't usually _that_ blue, either. The anger is looming close to the surface. Derek pulls out his wallet and with a flick of his wrist, one of those wallet-sized photo album flips open. On one side there's a very young looking Derek laughing, leaning back in his sister's arms while she ruffles his hair. On the other, there's a picture of their parents and Peter. The parents are wearing Squadron uniforms and Peter is wearing a tuxedo, they're holding champagne flutes and toasting at the camera. Stiles never thought Derek to be a romantic.

In the middle, like a centerpiece, there's a black and white picture of him and Laura. It's almost artful. They're standing in front of a decrepit wall, the two of them huddle in the middle of all the negative space. Derek is barely looking at the camera, looking sullen and every bit like he does nowadays – like a coil spring ready to snap. Laura has her arm around his neck and is looking encouragingly at him, a small sad smile on her face. The way her head is turned displays the full extent of the damage to her face. Her left eye is whitened, and long gashes bar the side of her face, from the forehead and temple to her mouth. And below, you can see her shoulder was hit, too.

“ _I_. Did that.” Derek spits out with all the self hatred it can possibly contain. “I lost control and I _did that_. To my own _sister_.”

Stiles' hand reaches out without his permission and hovers over Laura's face. An instant before he actually touches the plastic wrapping, Derek jerks his wallet back and Stiles snatches his hand away in apprehension. “I thought... I thought you guys healed.”

“She did.” Derek says quietly. “She was.” His hands are as shaky as Stiles' when he folds the album back carefully. “Believe me, it looked way worse before. Apparently,” he says, “the damage done by one of us takes more time to heal.”

“Oh.”

There's a moment of silence and Stiles reels with what he just learned. He feels horrible for Derek. He can't imagine the guilt he must live with every day. He can't fathom what to say, or whether he should say anything at all.

“I was sixteen.” Derek says, voice thin. “I was mad about something. When you're... when you're completely shifted, your emotions are... heightened. Much like your senses. So I was... _enraged_. And she was being a big sister. I didn't hear her coming and I lashed out. I didn't even know I was doing it, I-... it was pure reflexes. I attacked my own sister. It took her _eight months_ to heal.”

Stiles bites his lip, staring at the table. He's trying not to do something stupid like get teary or hug Derek. “Why do you still have that picture, then? I mean, why this one.” He manages to look at Derek to ask.

“Because that's what I see, every time I look at her. That's what I did. I don't deserve to...”

“To what? To not see it? To be forgiven?”

Derek tries to hold in a growl and looks even angrier when he snaps the pen he had in his hand. A hand that now has claws. His eyes gleam a brighter blue when he looks away and takes a deep breath and holds it.

Stiles has never seen Derek lose control of himself like this, never. And he's seen the guy angry. He's even seen him in combat situation. If anything, it cements the moment as a _mother freaking bid deal_ in Stiles' mind.

Eventually, the older boy sighs and turns back towards him. “I lost control that day. And I lost my sister. We were... She was... everything I had.”

Stiles tries to imagine how he would feel if he'd done that to his father. “You mean she's angry with you?”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “Sometimes I'm mad at her for not being mad at me.”

“Oh. Then what-...?”

Derek's glare snaps to Stiles. “Some people can't look in the mirror, okay? I can't meet my sister's eye.”

 

 

@@@

 

As Derek and him are walking back to the dorms together, Stiles tries to think of how to say goodbye. Is there an etiquette to 'We barely know each other. You hate the entire world and I'm in it. But you kind of opened up to me tonight. Even though it was under duress. And I feel for you. Also, I may have wet dreams about you form time to time – at night, mostly. So, bye?' ?

He shouldn't have worried, because Derek takes care of that. One second Stiles is walking and about to say something, and the next he's being slammed against a classroom door. “If you say one word-...”

“I'm not gonna tell anyone!” Stiles squeaks in protest. He would be offended, but it'll come after he's done expecting to be punched. “Derek, I wouldn't-...”

Different things Stiles can't read flicker in quick succession in Derek's eyes. His fist lets him go as quickly as it grabbed him. “I know. I'm sorry-...” Derek blinks several times, frown deep and unsettled. Then he turns on his heels and walks off.

Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he is not, in fact, hurting anywhere. He flattens his hands on the wood against his back and breathes. What an evening. Jesus. “And here I thought _I_ was socially handicapped.”

He knows Derek heard him when he hears the snort down the hall. He pushes off the wall and heads to his room, trying not to think about... Trying not to _think_. Period.


	3. Chapters Five & Six

5.

 

If you'd asked Stiles how his week was going ten minutes ago, he would have told you it had been pretty odd so far. It definitely stood out in the time line. Now? It cannot be anything but the strangest week ever in his life.

Are all his dreams coming true with the weird technicality of 'careful what you wish for and how you phrase it'? Because... he always wished Derek would pay attention to him. He never hoped for said attention to be paid with threats and showing against things – well... – and Lydia...

Lydia manages to top Derek. Which is something. Then again, we're talking about Lydia Martin. She has to top _everything_.

“And _that's_ why they called it the Cold War?” Scott asks, bemused. “I always thought it was because it happened in Russia. You know, in the North.”

Allison smiles at her boyfriend indulgently while Erica and Isaac try not to grin too widely. Stiles rubs his eye a little too hard, hoping the pain will keep him from being a dick and laugh his ass off.

“Hey.” Erica leans over towards him and hisses. “Is it true that Greenberg almost blew up the chem lab while watching the Coach through the window?”

Isaac snorts in laughter and Stiles nods frantically. “Oh, you should have seen it!” The blond haired boy says.

“I dunno how he did it. He sort of slimed up as usual-...”

“Which is just... _ew_ , because it's all like... I'm getting my panties wet except it's all over me. Control yourself a little, dude.” Isaac cuts in.

“...-and I dunno, some must have dropped into the mix or whatever and his experiment blew up! Harris shrieked.”

“So did you.”

“Shut up. I did no such thing. I let out a very manly yelp of terror,” Stiles asserts.

“And you climbed on my lap,” Isaac reminds him.

“You were further away from him, I was trying to make an escape. And possibly use you as a shield,” he says, then huffs a giant sigh. “Fine. I startled like a little girl.” He's surprised at the little amount of mocking he receives. His friends seem busy staring over his shoulder.

He looks over, half expecting to find Harris himself – which would be just his luck. Or any teacher with a disproving look on their face. Or Derek, even, which would totally get that slack jawed look out of Scott.

He doesn't expect Lydia.

“Uh. Hi?” he babbles, after a second.

She levels him with a superior look. “I'm going for a walk. _You_ are joining me,” she informs. He needs to remember that, the statement technique. A polite, unobjectionable way of... basically giving people orders.

“Uhh...” Scott lets out.

“Nope.” Allison places a hand on his thigh. “Just Stiles.”

Stiles looks back at her, catches the look on his friends faces around the table and, further away, Jackson and his Lacrosses buddies watching like hawks. He does not want to know _their_ expressions so he makes a point not to look their way. Allison gives him an eyebrowed 'well?' that has him question whether she spent any time with Derek recently. “Right,” he says, springing up from his seat. “Scott, you, uh... You'll get my stuff back to the room?”

“He will,” Erica assures him, cutting whatever Scott was about to say.

Stiles is too aware of his body has he walks alongside Lydia out of the library. He feels completely unnatural and awkward in all his steps. They are, he's pretty sure, his usual way of walking; but he's never been conscious of his legs or how he holds his back as he does so before. “Jackson is going to _murder_ me.”

“He is not,” Lydia says somewhat reassuringly. “He's too chicken shit. He knows I'd hurt him if he did.”

“He _knows_ -...?!” Stiles starts to yelp out and quiets himself immediately. He hisses. “He knows....? About... whatever?”

Lydia casts him a look as they step outside. She's right he admits inwardly, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, it's a great time for a walk. The days are getting brighter and warmer. He takes a second to close his eyes and turn his face towards the sun to soak in some vitamin D. “So.... what's going on, exactly?”

He jumps slightly, stares down as her hand snakes around his elbow and stirs him along the path. - _This is me, acknowledging this. Us.-_ She says in his head. - _You're my friend, Stiles. I'm sorry I made you doubt that.-_

She gives him an honest, not-so-confident smile when he looks over, and he melts on the spot. - _Fine. Why are we talking that way?-_

_-I still want to practice? Is that okay?-_

He shrugs. - _Sure. That's fine. I'm just not sure, now that you're actually here to talk to, how my body will adjust to me running my mouth without, you know... running my mouth.-_

Lydia makes an actual sound at that. It's between a 'hm' and a cute noise. - _Although, from what I heard, you may be putting your mouth to better uses these days.-_

He frowns. - _Like what?-_

 _-Oh, I don't know. I heard someone was seen coming back to the dorms very,_ very _soon after one Derek Hale the other night. Looking all kinds of flustered. No wonder you ditched the party.-_

Stiles whips around. “Seriously?!”

She beams at him and has the nerve to look innocent. - _What?-_

If Derek wasn't going to kill him before, he certainly is now. Oh my god. What should he do? Go tell him he didn't say anything and the rumors started without his knowledge? But what if no one told anything to Derek? Because the only person Derek spent any time with willingly was Boyd and Boyd flies way, _way_ over gossip. - _No, but seriously, Lyds. People are saying that?-_

She flips her hair in response. - _I may have inferred. You were seen_ _. Jeremiah and Loyd were saying something_ _about it. Like they can talk, they only saw you because they snuck back in the dorms early to try and_ _fuck_ _in the boy's common room.-_

 _-What? Ew. I do stuff there. I_ nap _there!-_ Stiles tries to shake the horrible mental picture out of his consciousness.

- _So. Derek?_ \- Of course, she wouldn't drop it. That's kind of why he loves her. They have that in common.

- _We were just working. No big, I swear. I was just reeling because... that's the most interaction I'd had with him in like, my entire life.-_

 _-You guys do stare at each other a lot. Which is nothing new, on_ your _part. It wasn't so much jumping to conclusions as connecting one more dot.-_

 _-He does not stare. He glares. Lately, he...-_ He hopes she won't read too much in the fact that his anxiety makes him lick his lips. _-He looks. And now... I'm not sure I want him to.-_ She gives him an exasperated look. _-No, I mean, hear me out. It took him two seconds flat to figure us out. You and me. He knows. He worked it out-... -_

_-I saw that, we weren't exactly subtle.-_

_-Seriously? That's exactly what he-... -_ Stiles shakes his head. _-The point is... if he can read this so easily by paying attention to me one second. What else is he gonna notice?-_

_-Oh, you mean that he's the Prince Charming to your Knight Rider-_

_-Yes! Wait... No. He's the one with the hot car. But thanks for calling me Knight.-_

She beams, a new spring in her step. _-I smell romance!-_

 _-Please, don't get my hopes up. Trying not to die of envy is bad enough now.-_ He huffs. _-You're such a fag hag.-_

Lydia laughs. A bright, full blown, happy laugh that has people looking at them from across the park. He smiles and ducks his head. He can't help but fear the turn of the tide, but right now... right now life feels pretty good.

 

 

@@@

 

“Hey, so, I was thinking...” Stiles interrupts for the tenth time. Derek stops typing and looks up. Stiles gives him huge props for not having gagged him or threatened him into silence yet. “I know it's not my place, and please don't kill me but-...”

“Why do you always say things like that?” Derek cuts in. “I'm not gonna hurt you.” He looks a bit wary. “Do I look like I'd hurt people?”

“... yes? You look ready for a fight. A lot. Like all the time.” Stiles babbles, unable to keep the words in.

Derek stares at him for a moment, face unreadable. It's long enough for Stiles to see his life pass before his eyes. He decides two things. A, he needs a life. And B, he needs to get laid if he's going to get murdered in a school library like a blonde chesty idiot in a horror flick.

Eventually, Derek's eyebrows twit closer for a second and he breaks eye contact. “So... you were going to say something.”

“Ahh...” Stiles gapes, mind blank, until Derek glances back at him. “Oh. Right! Finstock.”

“I'm gonna need some context,” Derek prompts, when nothing else comes.

“I, um... never mind.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek grinds out, waving at his computer. “You're going to blurt it out in two minutes anyway. Just come out with it already.”

Stiles tries not to grit his teeth at what else he could _come out_ with right now. “It's about... your shifting. The full on wolf out. Is it okay, _wolf_?” He gets a shrug in response. “So if you don't want to talk about it....” Derek takes a deep breath and sighs. “Okay, okay. I thought you should try to bring it up with Finstock. Maybe you have, I don't know. But... Erica, she... she had control issues – which you don't have! – and he helped her a lot with them. He's odd and all, but he can really be a great help sometimes, with the practical side. I think maybe he could help with a blockage.” Truthfully, Stiles _knew_ for a fact that he could, he had been the first one to get Stiles to practice.

Derek blinks. “I'll think about it.”

“I know you can do it, Derek. I mean, I've seen you in class, you're like... a monster of zen and self control. And you-... I just... I'm sure you can handle it just fine. And maybe what's holding you back is that, if you manage to do it, to show yourself, then... you got nothing left to hide. You're just like everyone else. And maybe... maybe you want to be, but in a way you don't.” Stiles frowns. When did it start being about him? Damn Peter and his mind tricks. Derek opens his mouth, doesn't even look surprised when Stiles interrupts again. “I know. You'll think about it.”

Derek snorts. “I was going to say: This should go in the essay. That's actually good insight. Something that might be true. In some cases.”

Stiles reels for a second. “Oh, that's right! Yeah. It's called cognitive dissonance.”

Derek eyes him. “Seriously? You just... know that?”

“Um...” Stiles ducks his head. “Okay. I guess it's fair. My time to share some family drama? Unless you don't-...”

“Please.”

Stiles swallows. He knows it's not a Scott-like 'please, open up to me', but a polite 'please, do', but he can't help being touched a little. “I-... My dad. He had a, uh... Has? I don't know. He had a drinking problem. He's a Sheriff, and he has a hard job. And my mom's d-...” Stiles trips on the word. “When she passed, he took it really hard. At first he didn't see what he was doing to himself, I think he just wanted to forget. To drown it out.” Stiles clears his throat over the rawness of his voice. Derek keeps looking at him. It makes him wants to run. Run from the watchful stare, from the story. But it also makes him want to hide his face in the crook of Derek's neck and cry. And it's not just because Stiles has thought of snuggling up to Derek's chest as he drifted of to sleep countless times – yes, he's a closet romantic. He just suddenly feels like he could really use a hug. “Anyway, when he... when we talked about it. Fought about it, I should say... I tried to explain. When you do something you know you shouldn't. Like... smoke a cigarette, or eat more cake or whatever it is... You want it, but you don't want to want it. You do it because you want to, but you hate yourself because you do. And that makes you feel bad. You don't even know that it goes beyond the conflict of emotions. It fucks with your general mood and self esteem.” He presses his lips in a fine line and gives Derek a shrug. “Look at us. Stilinski Senior having self esteem issues. Who would have thought, knowing his uber popular and confident son.”

“... You nailed that one on the head. You having self esteem issues.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “And? I'm not old and wise, like you.” He ducks as Derek takes a mock swat at his arm. “What am I gonna do to pass the time?”

Derek shakes his head and tsks. “Alright, well... I think you should write that part. About the dissonance. You already know the concept.”

“Okay. So... that should go... part three, second- no, third bullet point?” Stiles leans over to read on Derek's screen.

“Mhm. Sounds good to me.” The way Derek's speaks so close to the back of his neck – which is entirely Stiles' doing – makes the hair on his shoulders and arms stand on end.

“For the record,” Derek says later, as they're about to part at the junction of their respective dorms. “It's not because one dickhead dislikes you that you're not popular. Or unpopular, for that matter. You have friends. Steady ones. They trust you. That's all that should matter.”

Is Derek giving him a pep talk? “O-okay.” What else could he say? Oh, right? Something that sounds completely insensitive like “And you? Why don't you have friends?” Stiles mentally kicks himself. In the face. “There are a lot of people that would like to hang with you more.” He amends. Boyd, for example, seems to like Derek just fine. Stiles knows the dark-skinned boy feels like he found a kindred spirit.

“Because I don't trust anyone.” Derek says matter-of-factly. Stiles wonders what is sadder. The sentence, or the way he said it: not wary.  _Resigned_.

 _You trusted me_ , Stiles thinks. But it doesn't count, Peter made it happen. “Why?”

“Because I don't trust me.” Okay, that is just heartbreaking. Because Stiles knows why, and it makes him want to kick and scream. And he wants to hug Derek again. Dammit. He's lucky Lydia isn't here to pick up on his surface thoughts.

“Maybe you should,” he says instead.

Derek looks at him for a while. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

 

 

@@@

 

_-How are you supposed to take it when a guy pulls away from making out with you to yawn?-_

Stiles almost snorts his coke – decaf, it's 10pm, he's not _that_ insane – out of his nose. - _You're supposed to deduce that... Jackson is tired. And that he cared enough to actually pull away?-_

Lydia snorts in his head. - _I'm worried about him.-_

Stiles puts down his pencil and leaves his Robin sketch alone. - _And you're telling me because Jax and I are such good buddies.-_

 _-I'm telling you because you're my best friend.-_ Lydia says cooly.

That gives him pause. _-I am?-_

 _-You're an idiot.-_ Stiles makes a face. He feels lucky he apparently is her best friend, or else what would she call him? - _Alli's my other best friend but we... I can talk to you about stuff I don't feel comfortable sharing with her.-_

Great. He was the sassy gay friend. - _Like boys.-_

_-No! Well, yes, but-... Do you play dumb on purpose? I mean feelings. Family drama. Worries about the future.-_

_-You don't talk about that with Allison?-_

_-Not really. It's not like I don't trust her, it's just... I don't know, we never really went there.-_

Stiles feels a little stumped, he picks up his pencil again and darkens his shadows. - _Okay, so... Why exactly are you worried about Jackson? You said that like you're worried about him, not about you and him.-_

There's a beat. - _He's been freaking out over finals. You know him, he gets good grades, but he wants... He always wants to be the best.-_ Stiles nods, even though she can't see him. - _He's been putting a lot of pressure on himself. He's... He doesn't finish his plates anymore.-_ Stiles stops working on Robin's hair. He isn't really fond of Jackson, but the idea of anyone under such stress that they can't eat is unpleasant. And he hates the worry in his friend's voice. - _I'm afraid this means he doesn't sleep well either.-_

“Shit.” Stiles rubs his forehead. - _I wish I knew what to do, Lyds.-_ It takes him a second to register the nickname that slipped out. - _Maybe you should talk to him about it? I know, we guys, we hate showing weaknesses, but-... trust me. When we open the floodgates, we become... -_

_-Winchesters?-_

Stiles lets out a laugh. - _Yeah. That can happen. But seriously, he may not know why he's like this, if you're right. And maybe you telling him will make him feel better, you know, because he's not alone.-_

Lydia makes an agreeing sound. - _Thanks, Stiles. You're a good friend.-_

_-You too.-_

_-I like Lyds, by the way. –_

Stiles grins.

 

* * *

 

6.

 

Stiles is about to close his laptop when he sits back down, reopens his tabs and checks, once again, the 'submission registered' message on his intranet page. He knows he's being neurotic. And he knows he'll keep checking for the two days they still have until the deadline. On the edge of his field of vision, Derek walks between the rows of shelves and places various books they used back where they belong.

Stiles sighs, finally packs his things and stands up again. He watches as Derek reaches high to place the last volume in its place. Derek's sweater and shirt ride up and Stiles gets stuck on one detail. One stupid, random detail. It kicks off a rapid fire train of thought that quickly leaves Stiles with a blank mind.

Derek is wearing a belt. Simple as that.

Why is he so affected then? He wasn't even checking out Derek's ass.

Which, huh, it's true. He hadn't been. Which is both weird – it's Derek's ass – and not so much – Stiles has found early on that his weak spot is shoulders. – Large, muscular shoulders with muscles rolling under the skin with every movement. Shoulders you want to bite. –

Simply, it's made Stiles think back to that time in the locker room he saw Derek pull his pants under-... “Do you always go commando?”

Derek's eyes snap to him.

Stiles' own widen as he takes in his words and the way Derek is rooted on his spot in surprise. This kind of random thoughts, about anyone, is not that unusual for him. But he's spoken out loud, for Pete's sak-... No, not _Pete_ , with Old Hale that's become creepy now. “I... _Wow_. Forget I even said that." He flushes hard, looks away and ruffles at his hair in utter embarrassment. "What is wrong with me?!" he hisses to himself. "Are _all_ my filters down?”

There's a beat, during which Stiles wishes for something to happen and distract his focus from his burning cheeks. Then Derek takes a few steps forward. “You talk like a geek,” he comments.

That has the effect of making Stiles look up, he narrows his eyes. “Is that an insult? Cause it's a bit weak compared to what I usually get. So I'm not ever sure-...”

“It wasn't an insult," Derek cuts, shrugging. "It was a statement,” he throws casually as he starts walking out;

Stiles follows, trying to ignore his wildly beating heart. “A remark,” He says, matter of fact.

“Yes.”

“Because we're.... talking." Stiles says, hoping he doesn't sound as off as he feels he does. "You and me, we're talking buddies.” He can't help but think that there is no reason for them to spend any time together anymore.

Derek glances sideways at him, a small curl to his lips and an eyebrow raised. “You're the one who asked me what I was wearing.”

Stiles mouth drops open as he stills. He feels the heat that had barely receded flood back to his face with a vengeance. Unable to think of what else to do, he hurries off.

Behind him, he can hear a huff of breath that sounds a lot like a laugh.

 

 

@@@

 

“So what's up with you being a people magnet?” Isaac gasps out, jogging alongside Stiles. They're running along the track today, because Stiles and the Hales seem to be the only ones who enjoy nature.

“Wha'd you mean?” Stiles _knows_ what. He simply wishes he didn't have to explain, because he can't.

“Lydia. Derek.”

“Lydia and I-...” he pants. “We've been buds for a while. It's nothing new. We're just... putting me in Jackson's cross-hairs, that's all.”

“You've been friends with Jax's girl behind his back? That's ballsy.”

“It's not like she gave me a choice. You know her.” Isaac laughs. “And yeah. I'm your token gay guy, dude. Jackson may be jealous cause she's venting about him to someone, but he can't possibly feel threatened by me.”

“He is.” The blond counters. “Because she trusts you, she cares what you think. And he knows he's been a dick to you. Since like... days started ending in y.”

Stiles stumbles slightly. “ _That_ 's why it's stopped?”

Isaac smirks. “She threatened with a sex strike.”

“Ouch.” Stiles is a virgin, and still, he can sympathize. He will, in fact, sympathize with anybody at Lydia Martin's mercy.

“And Derek?”

Stiles grasps at straws. “I don't think he's on a sex strike.”

Isaac shoots him a look he doesn't want to read. “I _mean_ , what's you with you and Derek?”

“Old Hale's essay. It's actually kicked our butt pretty hard,” Stiles huffs out. "Thank fuck it's finished." He may have checked on the submission status three times since this morning.

“Oh. That's all?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I dunno.” Stiles thinks Isaac might have shrugged, but with the running and the sweat in his eyes – he should have worn that stupid wristband, dammit – he's not sure. “I heard things. I saw you two, yesterday.”

Oh, yeah. Stiles had been trying to repress that epic moment of social awkwardness.

“You know he only talks to two people at school, right?”

“Why? You've tried talking to him? Maybe he'd talk to you.” Isaac looks doubtful. “He's... Dude, he's _nice_. Which is... so weird, because I've spent so much time thinking he wanted to murder me.”

“And imagining him in the shower, late at night....” Isaac muses.

Stiles glares. “You're not helping.” And with that, he sprints ahead.

“Holy shit!” Isaac pants when he catches up with him in the locker rooms. “Are you sure you're not becoming like Scott?” he jokes.

“Nah, man. I run a lot, that's all.” He shrugs. “Keeps me grounded. Plus, we never know how long we may have to go on foot later, you know. In the Squadrons.”

 

 

@@@

 

Status: _Document submitted_.

_-Are you still checking that?-_

“I _know_. Just... shut up.”

“I wasn't-...”

_-In here, too, smartass.-_

Making Lydia Martin giggles feels like a personal achievement.

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles is pretty sure Derek can heart his heartbeat picking up suddenly and getting erratic as the older boy gets up from his seat, uncertainty on his face but resolve in the steady rise until he's standing.

Finstock only looks half surprised at his volunteering but says nothing. He usually has to coax Derek and call him out to get him to the obstacles course. This time, everybody seems to realize the moment is special, although Stiles is pretty sure only he, the coach and Derek know why. The student walks slowly and resolutely to the end of the course, far away from them. He partially disappears behind the first obstacle.

Scott tenses and looks back at Stiles, hesitating over the edge of understanding when Derek not only drops his eternal leather armor, but, after a slight pause, reaches behind his head to pull off his shirt. Whispers start to course through the assembly as he ducks and disappears out of sight. Stiles realizes he must be removing his shoes and stripping.

Holy gods. He's actually doing it. He's... He's following Stiles' advice.

Scott glances back when he hears Stiles' hiccuped intake of breath. He almost grins and mocks Stiles for having such a reaction to Derek stripping but he seems to catch something on his best friend's expression and doesn't.

Stiles can't tear his eyes away when Derek reappears and works his shoulders backwards, lifting his heels a couple of times, steeling himself for-...

_Oh my god._

The person on Stiles' right shoots him a look and he thinks he must have spoken aloud, but he can't say anything about it, can't react properly, because Derek starts shifting.

From a distance, they can't make out his features properly but they can perceive the ripples, the contortions of his face and upper body that aren't quite natural. Stiles knows he's on the edge of his seat, responding physically, mouth agape and staring like a fanboy, but it's _huge_. When Derek's skin changes color, he actually stops breathing all together.

It's an abrupt change from the near hyperventilation from an instant before, and his vision swims as he watches ribs pop and human figures becoming... _beast_. There are a few gasps. A number of students have seen Peter completely shifted, but it's something else coming from a student. Peter's wolf has redish brown furr and is pretty thin. Next to it, Derek's is a monster. And it's completely black, safe for startling blue eyes.

It must have taken twenty seconds at most and Derek has become utterly unrecognizable. Stiles thinks maybe he imagines him huffing out like a bull before he launches himself on the obstacle race. Finstock is lucky the timer is laser operated, because he seems just as stunned as everybody else.

Derek flies over the obstacles. Despite his wolfish features, his spring reminding Stiles of a cross between a primate folding and unfolding as he vaults from obstacle to obstacle, and an untamed feline, all power and weight and precision.

The closer he gets, the closer things come in perspective. It was obvious he'd become larger in the distance, but as he races closer, Stiles comes to realize how freaking _massive_ Derek is.

Stiles felt impressed and naturally inferior before, but now it's like he and Derek don't even exist on the same playing field anymore.

During this little enlightenment, Derek has reached the finish line and the class and pads towards the coach quietly – freaking stealthily – on clawed feet and Stiles feels like he's just been beamed in Rise of the Lycans. Derek is gigantic, he looks... stunning.

Stiles is suddenly struck with the memory that, yes, they might be witnessing this for the first time but Derek is used to this and all his perfect run comes from practice. Hidden, secretive – Stiles can relate – honing of his skills.

A random thought pops into his mind. In French, the world 'fantastique' means both the artistic genre of supernatural and, well, 'fantastic'...

Finstock stares back at Derek for a couple seconds until he blinks. "Oh, uh... Good run, son. Very nice."

The slight nod he gets feels so out of place on _this_ head it's almost comical. Then Derek starts to shift back. It's quicker. From the distortion of facial features into a wince, it must be painful.

Derek is huffing and puffing through it, staring at the floor then squeezing his eyes shut and frowning against the pain. Stiles stares, stares _harder_. He can see everything: he muscles twisting, knotting and _receding_ under the blackened skin ; the skeleton popping in on itself in increments ; the patches of hair disappearing back into the skin miraculously.

Derek reaches his 'usual' halfway stage and his eyes snap open, lifting and seeking out Stiles'. Something hard and painful pangs in Stiles chest. His breath catching again. Pride. Admiration. Awe.

Neither of them breaks the hold while Derek shifts back to human. From a distance, they seem unnaturally blue. They're too bright, and they dull progressively to his usual shade. Stiles doesn't even compute the fact that Derek is standing there in simple boxer shorts that must have been nastily abused by the shift. He's mesmerized. What just happened runs on a loop through his mind. Superposed with the gaze Derek has fixed on him, he can see him flying through the air, looking something out of his comic books. Only real. Only more awesome.

He knows how he must look, lips parted in an awed almost-smile, eyes wide and locked on Derek's. He knows and he knows that people are now staring at him. At them.

Derek's silent communication says 'See? I did it.'. Stiles' says 'but why?' and 'fucking a!'. Everybody' else's says 'wtf?'. They don't know Derek couldn't or wouldn't shift before. They just know he never has.

The older boy blinks and he's not even done before he's turned halfway back towards the coach. Stiles slides back int his seat, whistling through his teeth, his hand running through his hair. He avoids Scott's bewildered and no doubt inquisitive look while Derek jogs back to his clothes. Instead he gazes around... right into Isaac's 'you're so full of shit' expression.

“What the hell was that about?” Scott hisses at him as soon as they're out the door.

“What was what?” Stiles attempts, knowing full well it isn't gonna work.

“Derek! He shifted completely.”

Sometimes, Scott is awesome and indulges Stiles when he silently begs him to drop a subject. “Oh yeah, that was pretty impressive, wasn't it? I didn't know he got that... big.”

“He looked at _you_.” Or not.

“He did?” Obvious, thy name is Stiles Stilinski.

“Oh, come on. I'm not an idiot. There's something going on you're not telling me.” Scott holds up a hand as soon as Stiles stops in his tracks and sighs. "I'm not asking you too, man," he says, halting Stiles' protests. "I'm just telling you I know. And you don't have to lie to me about it. I'm your best friend. I'm not pushing. Just sayin'...”

This is why Stiles loves Scott. Because Scott is awesome. He may not be the sharpest tool in the box because he just doesn't pay attention to shit – usually –, but he's got the biggest heart Stiles' ever known.

 

 

@@@

 

"Hey, buddy! That looks all right." Stiles gives Scott a bright smile after checking the exercise. "Looks like you got it."

"No. I don't." Scott looks miserable. "I'm just doing what you said. I don't understand what it is I'm doing."

Stiles' heart sinks a little. "It's a first step. You did it right. You don't know it yet but that's a good first step. Let's try a new one. Try and work out on your own what formula you should apply."

Scott looks like he's ready to throw himself out the window in desperation, but he merely picks up his pen again, flips over his sheet and reads over the next question.

Stiles knows the study session is nearing its end when he sees Allison and Lydia walk into the room, and his best friend's eyes light up at their sight.

Scott perks up and makes grabby hands for his girlfriend as soon as she nears them. Lydia walks around the table and ruffles Stiles' hair. He is painfully aware of Jackson's friends that are watching them from a distance. “You're gonna get me killed,” He remarks as Lydia settles next to him. To his surprise, Allison coaxes Scott back to his struggles and pulls out her own homework.

“Pssh... You got your two Hale boyfriends to protect you. And that is, even if you couldn't take Jackson.” She says, flipping her hair disdainfully.

Stiles blinks. “You think I can take Jackson?”

“You _have_ , sweetie.” How do you even make praise sound patronizing?

“That was one t-....” He stops abruptly. “Did you just say _boyfriends_?”

Lydia examines her perfectly manicured nails with a smirk.

“What boyfriends?” Scott asks.

Allison shakes her head and touches his arm. “One, I think Professor Hale's attitude towards Stiles is... disturbing.”

“I'll say!” Stiles pipes up.

“And...” she tilts her head at him and smiles, cute dimples and all, and he _wants_ to hate her but he can't. “Yeah, what was that with Derek earlier? You guys... what? You're friends now?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, looking much calmer than he feels. “Doubt it. We just... remember that essay we gotta do for Old Hale – who is _not_ my boyfriend! Yikes. –?” He glares at Lydia in passing, she gives him an unimpressed look. “It kind of hit a sore subject and we... talked. It was...” Nice? Sad? Confusing? Still really really hot? Even the part when Derek manhandled Stiles into a wall even though Stiles doesn't want it to be? “...weird.”

“I know. He never talks.” Scott says, completely oblivious to Stiles' unease. God bless him.

“So, what's he like? What did you guys talk about?”

Stiles remembers the look in Derek's eye when he let him go after opening up. Distrust and fear and shame and self loathing. “Nothing. I mean, homework. You know, essay stuff? No big deal.” _Way_ big deal. His secret big deal to keep.

It hits Stiles that he finds himself keeping people's secrets. Scott's crush on Allison – until he outed himself like an idiot by talking about it in her presence. Lydia's powers. Their... somewhat friendship? And now Derek's darkest secret.

Or he assumes it's Derek's darkest secret.

“I dunno. I guess we're talking now.”


	4. Chapters Seven & Eight

7.

 

They get an A. Peter reads the grades off a paper as he walks through the desks, making comments and appreciations. He pauses next to Stiles' desk when he announces theirs and says quietly, so as to be heard only by the teenager “I'm a little disappointed in you, Stiles.”

Stiles swallows and looks down, chastised. He knows he didn't play his part. Reading their work, and knowing Stiles' secret you can clearly see the allusions made to it as well as Derek's mixed with the general, the examples and the theory. But Derek hasn't seen anything. Because Stiles was unable to keep his end of the deal.

When he looks up, Derek is twisted around, an arm wrapped around the back of his chair, and he catches his eyes, giving a genuine, celebratory grin. It's full of relief and shared pride. It falters when Stiles looks away, feeling even more ashamed and unhappy. It's written all over his face. He can tell by the way Derek becomes quizzical and – _jesus_ – looks concerned.

Stiles can't stand the look in Derek's eyes. He shakes his head, dips it, combing his fingers through his hair and joining them at the back of his neck. He stares down at his desk and hides away from Scott's attempts at getting his attention, from Derek's confused face, from Peter's judging stare. He's cowarding away from his own cowardness. That's a new low.

He too, has a blockage. But he doesn't know what it _is_.

He makes a bee line out off the classroom as soon as the class lets out, almost crashing into Isaac. The blond doesn't miss the way Stiles looks like he ran away _from Derek,_ who was coming to him. The dark haired guy stands irresolutely for a minute, then his expression sours and he stalks out the way he usually does.

 

 

@@@

 

“I am not giving you fashion advice.” There's a line, it has to be drawn somewhere. “I'm gay. I don't have ovaries.”

“But you have eyes. And you're like... an artist,” Lydia says. Damn, he shouldn't have told him about his Stan Lee covers copy folder. “And fuck you and your gender stereotypes. Most fashion designers are men.”

Stiles glares.

Lydia glares back.

Allison pulls out the trademarked McCall puppy eyes. Which he's known for never being able to resist.

“The blue one. It brings out your eyes- Fuck _me_!” he blurts out and then curses because, holy hell, he has fashion _opinions_. Guh.

Lydia claps excitedly and Allison dimples at him. “Thank you!”

“Go away and let me die in peace now that I've turned into Queer Eye for the Straight Girl.” Stiles drops his head in his hands and rubs at his scalp, effectively ruffling his hair completely.

“You know bed hair was last summer, right?”

“No, Lyds,” he looks up and glares. “Because I don't c-...” his words die on his tongue when he looks up to see Jackson reaching them.

“We should go.” The jock says to his girlfriend. “Hey, Allison.” He looks at him. “Stiles.”

Lydia perks up, leaning over to peck Jackson's cheek. She wriggles her fingers at her friends as a goodbye, hooks her arm around Jackson's elbow and they're gone.

Stiles meets Allison's stare. ' _Stiles?_ ' She mouths at him. So he didn't dream that, then.

Jackson has always called him 'Stilinski' at best. He's also been the one to come up with the 'Lose-inski' trend.

Stiles shrugs at Allison, at a loss. “Lydia is magic?”

She makes a noise that sounds like a close-mouthed 'huh!' and puts aside the top she'll use to for the class pictures.

 

 

@@@

 

“Stop fretting.” Stiles resists the urge to plant both hands on Lydia's shoulders and stop her from moving.

“My hair's wrong.” She runs her nails through it again, checking in the vanity mirror she pulled out of nowhere. Stiles meets Scott's eye in shared manly unbotheredness.

They're standing on small bleachers set up for the school pictures, and Lydia's just bellow Stiles, while Allison snuck her way in front of her boyfriend, so that they can secretly hold hands during the picture, because it's a _thing_. Stiles didn't get it.

“Your hair is perfect. As usual. Come on, stop it. Your elbow is getting pretty close to... parts I'd like to use someday,” Stiles says, swaying his hips away from Lydia's arm. Behind and above him, he can hear Jackson's short chuckle. He doesn't want to look over to check if it's about his current predicament.

“Just because you're alone using them doesn't mean it doesn't count.” Allison pipes up, giving him a cheeky smile.

Stiles gives her a scandalized face. He's about to find a smart come back – he's pretty sure – when someone – definitely not Isaac, who was there last time he checked – addresses him from his side. “Are you mad at me?”

Stiles startles and whips around, almost tripping off the small bench. Derek is staring into his face, serious as hell. A quick check tells Stiles that he's made at least five people move over so he could get to this spot. Jesus, couldn't this wait?

Oh. Unless...  Huh. Lydia could have come up with something like this. No wonder she approves of Derek. Stiles is trapped. He can't leave, he can't get pissed or defensive because that would mean a scene. It's pretty smart.

Also, a lot more public than Stiles would have liked. Still, what Derek is asking doesn't make sense. “What?” he hisses back. “Why would I be?”

“I...” Derek frowns and blinks. He looks away, confusion twisting his features even more.

Stiles stares as he seems to try and start a sentence a couple of times but doesn't manage to find the right words. “Dude, _what?!_ ”

Scott yanks at his pinkie finger in warning. Hard.

The class picture ends up looking like this: everybody smiling at the camera. Scott looking constipated, Stiles' face a mixture of a wince of pain and offense, and Derek staring back at him.

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles is thankful when Isaac doesn't try to bring up Derek during their study session. It may be because Boyd and Erica are here, but Stiles will take what he can get.

He yawns, not so much tired as bored to hell with math. Thank fuck he's done. He closes his notebook with the deep feeling of satisfaction that comes with a chore well gotten rid of.

“So...” Erica says, setting her pen down as if he gave the cue to take a break. “Isaac tried to give Boyd _the talk,_ ” he tells him, smirking.

Isaac glares at her.

“It was cute,” Boyd qualifies.

“Shut up, I totally schooled you.”

Erica snorts. Boyd chuckles for a while, barely moving when Isaac punches him in the arm. They smile at each other, goofy and amused, like the close friends they are. Eventually, the dark skinned boy turns serious and grazes Erica's hand. “He said to treat his cousin right,” He says. “I intend to.”

She gives a good effort of trying not to beam at him. It's so sweet Stiles' teeth hurt. “Aw, you crazy kids give an old man like me a warm heart.”

“You're insane,” Isaac remarks, like it's news.

He shrugs. “Didn't you know? It's my super power.”

“Uh huh.”

 

 

@@@

 

“Oh, no. Nu uh. No way.” Stiles shakes his head at Scott, holding up both hands as a shield for added effect.

“But-...” Scott lowers the two shirts he's holding. “You've always given me your opinion on shit.”

“Yeah, well, Stilinski Consulting is closed.”

“Why? Because Allison said you gave her great advice _one_ time?” Damn him. “Are you having a sexual identity crisis?”

“Fuck you.”

Scott laughs. “Guess not. Still want to do me.” It's a running joke between them. Scott isn't Stiles' type. Or maybe he could be, if they weren't so damn close it would feel like incest.

“I just...” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, halts it and actually tugs. “This isn't me.” He flails at his best friend. “I don't want to be my friends' stylist.”

“You're not. Dude. I'm just... You know. The usual. You're my best friend. My mom says I dress like I'm color blink. I'm going to a fancy place, I thought-... Nevermind.” He shrugs, throwing both items on his bed. “You're going for a run?” He asks, gesturing at the sport getup Stiles is wearing.

“Yeah.” Stiles scratches at his chin. “Got some energy to burn.”

“Kay.” Scott flops on his bed, yelps when he lands on the shirt hangers, and pulls one out from under his spine. “Have a good run. Meet you down for dinner?”

“Yep.” Stiles shrugs on his jacket and heads out. He pauses at the door. “Wear the green one, it's much kinder to your skin tone. And tie and jacket are either/or, don't do both. You're having dinner with your girlfriend's parents, not a CEO.”

“I love you!” Scott calls as he's bouncing down the stairs. Stiles hates himself, but he beams anyway.

 

 

@@@

 

He trains alone.

He always trains alone. Hidden. Beyond the Lacrosse field and in a secluded part of school grounds. There's a field around the back, where the woods become a thin strip of trees that not many people known about. Because it's not interesting at all unless you want to have a clearing hidden from view that's got nothing exciting going on but grass and rocks.

He licks his lips, humming to himself as he mentally 'grasps' at his power. It's a phrase Deaton uses to describe the inward focus that allows you to awaken and feel out your ability. Everyone experiences it differently.

Scott says he can feel it in his whole body. Erica says it's mostly like a warm, comforting cloak over the back of her neck and her shoulders. Jackson feels it in his bones. Lydia around her head.

For Stiles, it's his extremities. If he closes his eyes and focuses enough so that it almost becomes tangible, he would describe the sensation as waddling his fingers, catching tendrils of power. Catching more and more and knowing they belong to him.

It's weird, because his hands have nothing to do with his power. Deaton says the way you _grasp_ doesn't necessarily relate to the way you _develop_. Stiles guesses he's being his usual weirdo. Always has to be original.

His stomach rumbles and he estimates it probably is about time to head back if he doesn't want to stand Scott up and go to bed on an empty stomach.

He runs, buzzing with power all the way back. It's a peaceful sensation, the afterglow of reaching for his ability and projecting it.

His high is interrupted when he almost crashes into someone as he rounds a corner without paying attention. “Sorry!” He backpedals, eyes growing wide. “Oh, Derek. Hey.”

He begins to move past, heading to the locker rooms for a well deserved shower, and intending to leave the older student to go on his broody way. His plan, however, is derailed when Derek's hand slams to the wall and his arm bars Stiles' way, an inch from his nose.

Stiles tries his best not to cower against the wall when Derek crowds him in, but it's not menacing, it's-... Is he _smelling_ him?

“Dude!” Stiles hisses.

Derek meets his eyes with a hard stare. “You were training.” There's understanding in them. Stiles knows he knows. There's also confusion.

“What?”

“You have-...” Derek squints at him, Stiles takes an instinctual step back but Derek follows. “You can-... you smell like power. Lots of it.”

Stiles' can't help the way his eyes flick over Derek, from his eyes, to his lips, to his chest. He's not used to having people invade his personal space. Scott, Erica and Lydia do but a hand on his arm or a shoulder bump isn't anything compared to someone completely stepping into his bubble. It's unsettling.

Derek's eyes track Stiles' and he seems to realize just how close they are now that he's backed Stiles against the wall. He sways back, but doesn't step away. He keeps staring into Stiles, demanding acknowledgment.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Stiles squeaks.

“Wh-...?”

Stiles doesn't think he could take Derek, even if he were human. But Stiles can play dirty and he's a swift little fucker. He ducks away and hurries past Derek, almost running all the way to the locker rooms.

He can't let Derek ask him why. He doesn't know _why_.

Is it pride? Since he's the latest bloomer of them all, he doesn't wanna share. He's only told Finstock and Deaton, and from the look Old Hale's given him, he's either been told or he's figured him out. Through scent, possibly, like Derek just did?

Is it... he can't like being the social pariah. But maybe it'd be worse coming out with it so late.

Or maybe he wants this special thing being just his. For now.

Scott doesn't even know.

He's told him... he's told him he felt his ability develop. He's lied when he said he couldn't show Scott and didn't know what it was. What it did.

He stands under the hot spray of the shower, feeling like an asshole. Tonight, he tells his best friend.

Tonight, he gets the cold shoulder, the scoffing, whatever he has to. Tonight he shows someone.

Tonight.

Later.

 

* * *

 

 

8.

 

Stiles is feeling broody walking to the dining hall. He's pondering ways to broach the subject of his lies by omission with Scott when he nears the threshold to the wide room. He never reaches it.

He's aware of a large hand wrapping around his arm and he's being yanked backwards. Derek appeared out of nowhere and he's pulling him back into the darkened hallway. Stiles yelps in surprise and hurries a few steps backwards so he doesn't land flat on his back. When they get to the wall opposite the entry to the dining hall, Derek lets him go and pins him with a look. His gaze is so hard he might as well be holding Stiles down.

Stiles wishes he would have pulled him further away. A few people noticed, some are staring.

 _-Are you and Derek into rough foreplay or should I be worried?-_ rings inside his skull. Of course, _she_ saw.

Derek twitches in understanding when he sees Stiles recoil and wince in surprise at the voice in his mind. He turns around and glares. - _Lydia, butt out!-_

Stiles' eyes go wider. He heard that. And by Lydia's face in a distance, so did she. Jackson is giving them strange looks. “Derek, can we-...?”

All thoughts of escape leave him as soon as Derek rounds back on him, looking conflicted and pissed. The older boy jams a finger at him. “You-...” He closes his mouth. Stiles is terribly afraid by the way his jaw works. And Christ, Derek must know it. Because he can hear it and smell it on him and oh god, he never thought he'd die like this. “The essay,” Derek accuses. “It was about you, too! Just as much!”

“I'm sorry!” Stiles yelps, lifting his hands in subconscious surrender. “I'm a coward. Ol-... Your uncle cornered me as much as he did you. I panicked. And when you took it for you only I saw an opening and I... I chickened out.” Stiles bites his lower lip and avoids Derek's gaze. “I suck. I'm sorry.”

“No, I...” The renewed softness in the voice makes Stiles look back up. Derek blinks rapidly, stepping back. “I just-... Why didn't you tell me?”

Stiles curls in on himself, head sinking into his shoulders.“Because I don't tell anyone?” Derek looks at him without understanding. “Scott doesn't even know. I was maybe going to tell him everything tonight. Because I feel so shitty about what I did with you. I just...”

Stiles' usually not one for self hatred. He thinks he's quirky and annoying but he knows he's a pretty stand up guy, a nice person and a loyal friend. He's also a pretty kick ass beach volley partner. The people that don't bother getting to know him are the losing ones. Not him. Usually, that's enough to get him through the day.

But then he goes and does something stupid like hide who he is and let people open up to him in the rawest, most intimate way and he betrays them. Today, he feels like he's an asshole.

“Why are you so afraid people will see you?” Stiles' looks up, startled by the question. Derek looks curious and attentive. “You work so hard for them to do so, it just... it doesn't make sense.”

“Great. I don't make sense.”

Derek sighs. “I guess that makes you human, then. Like the rest of us.”

Stiles snorts, unable to keep his lips from curling up a bit. “Yeah. That's us, here. Your typical, standard issue human beings.”

Derek shrugs a shoulder, a little air of smugness to him. “Meh. Pretty much. Just a little bit more complicated.”

Stiles grins a bit, then lets his eyes travel over to the room full of people feasting on – huh, tonight they're having osso bucco. Derek moves out of his field of vision, and comes to lean his back against the wall beside him.

Stiles sighs. “The situation... _my_ situation... it's not ideal.” There's a euphemism for you. He's being bullied for being normal. Which, by the way, wtf? Not that there is any good reason for bullying, but still... “I'm afraid of change. It's not great but, if it changes, it can always become worse.”

“You're a status quo kind of guy.”

Stiles shrugs. “I'd like to think I'm not, though. I guess I'm just a coward.”

There a silence, then Derek shifts to bump their shoulders together. “You know,” he says, as he pulls back. “Someone very smart told me about this thing called cognitive dissonance. And that I should start trusting myself to trust others.”

Stiles snorts. “Smart ass.” He can't hide his grin, so he turns it towards Derek. “But thanks for calling me very smart.”

Derek almost smiles back. His eyes definitely do.

“It's stupid,” he admits, throwing his hands up. He can give Derek that much, he owes him some soul baring. “I'm scared! I'm scared and I don't know why... and it scares me.”

“You're fucked,” Derek remarks, half joking, half serious.

“I know, right?” This too, is bittersweet.

They stay like this for a while, pondering about the weight of the world, until Derek reaches over and presses his fingers against Stiles' shoulder. He pushes, gentle and steady, until Stiles has to catch himself to avoid falling over. “Go,” Derek tells him. “Scott's food's getting cold.”

Stiles does and he grins as he gives the brunette one last look over his shoulder.

He gets his food quickly and hurries to his best friend, who is the most awesome of them all because he's still here, waiting, browsing his Instagram feed instead of bitching about tardy people. He still gives Stiles a weird look when he sets his tray down. “What's with you and Derek?”

 _I wish I knew_. “I need to tell you something.” Scott opens his mouth and starts grinning. “It's not about me and Derek.”

“Oh.” Scott deflates. “Okay.”

“Later. Just you. Not here.”

Scott seems to get that it's going to be important, and yet doesn't grill him to know _right now._ “Okay,” he says with a companionable smile. Stiles feels a surge of love for the guy. His simplicity and unbreakable acceptance – for the people he trusts and considers friends – is one of his best qualities.

Stiles watches him poke his fork into his congealed noodles. “You should microwave that.”

“I really should.”

 

 

@@@

 

_-I can't believe you've made me wait all day for this and we're not even face to face.-_

Stiles taps his pen on his desk and huffs. He looks over at Scott's empty side of the room and sighs. He wishes he had his best friend around so he'd have an excuse to block Lydia out, but he's on his big Argent family date. - _I wasn't making you wait. I was trying to avoid this all together. Can't I have personal stuff?-_

_-Please, personal's the best.-_

The thing is, Stiles is good at keeping _people_ 's secrets. Not his own. So when Lydia started asking about him and Derek and what the fuck had happened at dinner the day before, he knew he would spill his guts in a record time. - _Look, there's nothing to tell!-_

 _-Sure there is. What was last night about?_ And _... What's up with you two?-_

_-I wish people would stop asking me that.-_

_-Why? Because it's steamy and controversial?-_

_-Because I don't know! Jesus, I'm the dork, the social reject. Why does everybody assume I'm getting laid as soon as someone says two words to me?-_

_-Because it's Derek. And you've been writing Mrs Derek Hale on the covers of your notebooks, for like, years?-_

“Jesus Christ...” Stiles takes his head in his hands. He knows he's been pathetic. He is also fairly certain that he's gotten better at dealing with this crush over the past years. Hell, he's even had other people catch his eye for a while, while Derek became constant background noise.

He can be Derek's... He can hang around, talk and interact with Derek without making a fool of himself now. He's fairly sure of that. - _Look, I don't know. I guess, we're... becoming something. Friends? Not there yet, but... yeah.-_ To be honest, Stiles expected Derek to go back to existing on a different plane once their assignment was over, and maybe he a little less hostile. Today told him different, however. Derek didn't seem to hold a grudge about Stiles' dissimulation. Old Hale gave him a bright smile, which Stiles took to mean that Derek had slipped him a word about partial returned confessions. Stiles managed to upturn his pencil case again, but this time Derek pulled moves out of his gene pool and caught everything before it hit the ground. Scott said something in reference to Peter Parker, and Stiles warned him if he ever, _ever_ tried to call him MJ, he would end up with a broken nose no matter how fast he ran.

 _-Okay.-_ Lydia says, uncharacteristically. _-I'm happy for you.-_

_-H-... happy for me?-_

_-You've been mooning over the guy for years. Now it looks like you're talking. As long as it doesn't rub it in and make you miserable, I'm all in. I'm counting it as a plus_.- Stiles tries to decide if Lydia watches too much Dr Phill or just the right amount. Although, he never _mooned._ - _Besides, I'm pretty sure he could use a friend.-_

“Hm.” Stiles never understood. He knows how it feels to be alone by default because you're an outcast, but he doesn't know how it feels to be alone because you pushed everyone away and keep them at arm's length. Why would you even do that? Does the loneliness feel different if you caused it yourself? Does it make the moments when you could use a shoulder even more bitter?

 _-Stiles? You okay?_ -

“Uh?” - _Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.-_

He expects the joke. Some teasing about how he's thinking about Derek and how few layers of clothing Derek is wearing. Maybe it's his tone that prevents her from saying it. - _I can leave you alone, if you...-_ she trails off, sounding unsure.

_-I told Scott yesterday. About my power.-_

There's a beat. He wanted to say it, he's just hoping-... He's just scared of her reaction. Scared. Again. He's working on that. - _How'd he take it?-_ The power. The hiding it from him.

 _-It went okay. I'm not sure either of us understand why I couldn't tell him before. But he's fine with it.-_ It was harder than what he'd had to do a few years prior. Coming out to his male best friend, with whom he did anything and everything and dreading the idea that Scott might turn his back to him forever. Once again, his fears had been unfounded and Scott had been as cool as a cucumber. He was the perfect friend.

Or he had been, until he started singing Some Nights and Stiles had to try and smother him with a pillow.

 _-Are you gonna tell me?-_ Lydia asks, tentative.

Stiles closes his eyes. He's been expecting this and he takes his time wording his answer. - _Is it okay if I don't want to just yet?-_

He doesn't know what to expect, and it's a relief when her answer comes. - _Take your time.-_ She says, surprising him again. - _Hey, at least, no matter how cool what you can do is, you know I love you for you.-_

He can't help the smile that spreads on his face. He says it back, all the while dizzy on the idea that, yes, those words are true, but they don't mean what he had spent years thinking they would, and yet, they feel greater.

 

 

@@@

 

“Dude, her dad is scary.” Stiles stares at Scott, who's shaking his head frantically.

“Oh no, believe me. He's a sunshine compared to her mom. She-...”

“She what?” Stiles prompts when it doesn't look like he's going to get more.

“She sort of... demonstrated... with a loaf of bread... um...” Scott unbuttons his shirt collar, tugs at it as if it's choking him.

“Use your words, buddy. And breathe, you're hyperventilating. Don't go and have an asthma attack on me now.”

“Haven't had those in years, Stiles.”

Stiles squints, then moves over to sit cross legged next to Scott. “And don't change the subject.”

“She pretty much implied-...”

Stiles holds up a hand. There are things he can't pass up. “Wait.... _You_ got subtext.”

“I-... It was pretty loud. Like, almost kind of text. Flashing. Neon sign with a ticking clock.” Scott is so comically terrified that he misses the tease entirely.

Stiles twitches. “What'd she say?”

“That if I touched her daughter outside of the bonds of marriage, I would be...”

“Dead?” Stiles tries.

“Castrated.”

He hisses in sympathy. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, it's weird how that seems worse than just being murdered.”

Stiles snorts. “So... Allison has probably not told her about all the sex you've been having like raving bunnies for the past year.”

“Yeah, no.” Scott sits down, and shudders. “I kinda want to take a chastity vow, now.”

Stiles ducks his eyebrow at him. He hasn't _had_ sex, but he's pretty sure once teenagers starts having it they never want to stop.

“Yeah, okay no. Thank god they live halfway across the country.”

“At least there's that. Less chances of them dropping by unannounced.”

“Maybe I should propose.”

Stiles stares. "Are you kidding?"

"....no?"

Stiles throws the stappler he was still holding at Scott's face.

“Ow!! What was that for?!”

“You're gonna propose just so you can keep fucking without looking over your shoulder?! Really? That doesn't sound a little wrong to you?” Scott opens his mouth. “You're going to propose to _Allison_ , because of _her mom_?!”

Scott blinks and thinks for a moment. “Well, maybe I want to anyway.”

“That's a better reason, man. Like the only reason there should be.” Stiles says. “You're both young, buddy. I don't think it's a good idea.”

“But her mom-...”

“Is being over protective. How do you think my dad's gonna be if I ever bring a guy home? I mean, I'm pretty sure he would do a background check if I brought a girl. But a _guy_?! I'm sure he'd explain in detail how he owns guns, what forensic counter measures are and that would have no problems making a body disappear.”

“Right.”

“You and Allison have a good thing. Don't be an idiot and fuck it up because of perceived blackmail.”

“Right.”


	5. Chapter Nine

9.

 

He misses the show by seconds when walks into the locker room. Derek is buttoning his jeans and Stiles briefly wonders if anyone – aside from the morning practices for Lacrosse players – else ever exercises. “We gotta stop running into each other like that. People will talk,” he says, trying for smooth and casual joking.

Derek smirks but doesn't turn to face him fully. Of course he knew he was there. “People are already talking.”

He looks up then and Stiles blushes. He doesn't know if it's the look Derek gives him or the truth in the statement. He clears his throat and heads to his locker.

“You've been training again.” Stiles looks back to find Derek tapping his nose and nods in acknowledgment. “Went okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He doesn't set any goals. He's not sure what they would be. He watches Derek towel off his hair because he's pretty sure he can't see through that much fabric. God, he wants to get a closer look at that tattoo. Like, close enough to lick, if possible. “You didn't ask me what it was,” he thinks aloud more than speaks. “That I do. What it is that I do, I mean.” _Smooth, Stiles. Very literate._

Derek peers at him, his hair all over the place, spiked with water and looking as much as a sex god as ever. “You don't want to tell me.” It doesn't sound hurt. It's a simple statement.

It makes Stiles feel bad, however. Not because keeping his secret could hurt people's feelings and make them feel distrusted, but because he's been unable to let go of it and share it for so long. It feels lame, somehow. Like he's been building it up into something that will unavoidably be disappointing.

In the words of the great philosopher Xander Harris _'Big overture_ _. Liiittle_ _show.'_.

“Maybe... maybe one day I'll show you.” He means it as a joke. Or not, because it's not actually funny, but he's not serious. But Derek nods, the corner of his lips twitching just before he turns away like he's trying to hide a grin and Stiles is _fucked_.

He'll show him anything. He'll fucking do a rain dance for him if it gets Derek to smile.

Oh boy, he's got it bad.

 

 

@@@

 

“What do you mean you didn't get sprinkles?!” Mindy squeaks.

Stiles looks at Scott in offense. “Dude. What's with the improv?”

“It's not _improv_ , Stiles!” Scott glares at his best friend without any real heat to it. “They were out of sprinkles. So I got jelly.”

Stiles huffs.

“Hey, if you don't want them, I can always keep them to myself.”

Stiles says “Yeah, right.” just as Mindy lets out a pointed “As _if._ ”. Scott shakes his head to hide his smirk and lets his friends dig into the box of doughnuts.

“It's _weird_ how they're always out of sprinkles when _you_ 're on the supply run,” Mindy muses. Stiles catches the wicked twinkle in her eye.

“They're not actually suppl-...”

“It's not _weird_.” Stiles interrupts. “It's mathematical. He always gets there too late.”

“That's right. If only, like one time, you and your girlfriend didn't stop to have sex on the way.”

Scott makes a sound like he wants to deny it, but the beautiful shade of fuchsia his face is turning renders any attempt moot.

“Sex in the backseat, really? I mean, I get it, but... it has to get old, right?” Mindy asks him, deadpan.

“You know what gets old?” Stiles leans on his elbow and puts on a commiserating mask. “Parking at the exact same spot every time. It's a car! You could go anywhere! But no, every time you chose a spot barely outside of school. Like say, first dirt road on the left after the back exit? You know what's special about that dirt road, Mindy?” Stiles teases, watching his best friend decompose rapidly.

“No, I don't.” Yes, she does. “What is it?”

“It happens to sandwich a strip of woods between it and the school grounds. Woods I often run in.”

“Oh, god.” Scott covers his face.

“Yes. You do say it a lot too, you know, during...”

“Oh, my god, Stiles!!”

Stiles smirks, and shrugs.

Scott's face is priceless. “Who else knows?!”

“Well, there's me. And, dude, I've seen your naked butt before but, please, never again in action. Go park somewhere else.”

“Never. Promise.”

“There's probably Derek, because I know for a fact he runs those tracks too and you and Allison are in such a heat that-...”

“Okay, okay! So, Derek. You. And you.” He eyes Mindy. “Is that all?”

“Depends on how talkative Old Hale is about the sex lives of his students.”

“What?”

“He runs in the woods, too.”

Scott sinks onto the tabletop. Mindy picks up another doughnut. “How did you even know, Mindy?”

“This isn't jelly. This is Nutella,” Mindy says around her mouthful. “Which I'll forgive, because it's kind of awesome.” She swallows, licks her lips while giving Scott a considering look. She decides he doesn't look properly scarred yet. “Maybe I was looking for a place to park, too.”

“Ow.” Scott digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets in an attempt to block the mental image. Stiles laughs and pats his shoulder. Alright, Torture Scott Time is over. He's been a pain about Allison's parents for a few days, and he messed up with the pastries again, but he's always there when Stiles needs to be annoying for a few days so... Fair's fair. Besides, he loves Scott like a brother. Torturing him, even with teasing, is always a little painful.

“Did someone say Nutella?”

Lydia's voice asked, therefore Stiles is confused when he looks up and sees Derek approaching the table. Then he follows Derek's gaze and sees the strawberry blonde bouncing her curls until she can get a look inside the greasy box. Mindy pokes it closer to her.

“Can I? I can spring for the next one if you want?” Lydia offers, eying the doughnuts like she's been starving for days.

Derek hovers where he's stopped in his tracks, looking uncertain.

“Hey, Derek,” Mindy greets casually, like Lydia and him joining in on MMESR – Monday Morning Emergency Supply Run – is a common occurrence.

He looks encouraged by the acknowledgment and steps closer. “Hey.”

Lydia gives him a smile, Stiles and Scott nod. It's new, it's not exactly awkward. It could become so fast, however, but Derek seems unaware of it. He's watching Lydia as she's examining the pastries, hand hesitating. “Not that one,” he says, as she's about to make her choice. “The one on the left – your left.”

She gives him a narrow eyed look and follows his directions. She takes a bite, moans and licks her lips. She beams at him. “Nice party trick.”

He looks amused by the idea. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Stiles watches the other students in the common room start to shuffle out sluggishly and looks up at Derek, a plea in his eyes. “Tell me it's not time for class already?”

Derek puts on a solemn face like he's about to announce a terminal diagnosis. “M'afraid it is.”

Stiles whines, but pushes off the bench and grabs the shoulder strap of his bag. Scott startles and starts gathering his stuff in a hurry. Mindy offers the last doughnut to Derek and tosses the box. Lydia examines her manicure.

“Is good old Uncle Peter going to be mean to us again?” Stiles asks.

“I dunno. To you, maybe.” Derek shrugs, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Hey!”

“What?” Derek bites into the doughnut – powered sugar. “I held up my end of the deal,” he says and licks the white dust off his mouth, missing a spot on his lower lip.

Stiles gets distracted. He thinks of all the 'sweet kisses' and 'give me some sugar' jokes he could make if his fantasies were true. It takes him a few seconds too long to come up with a snarky reply, so he settles on a groan and a shrug. It has the bonus side effect of making Derek huff quietly. Stiles has grown pretty sure that's how he laughs.

Lydia pats Scott's shoulder when he watches the exchange forlornly. “Don't worry. He still loves you more,” she says. “You're the only one he's told what he can do, yet.”

“He's got a new best friend.”

“Don't be an idiot.” Lydia stares at him like he's grown a new head. “I don't know why he thinks so, but you're irreplaceable to him.” She looks back at Derek and Stiles. They've stopped a few feet ahead and are waiting for the group to be complete to amble on to class. “Besides, I'm thinking of another kind of prefix before 'friend'.”

“Huh?”

Lydia ignores Scott's confusion in favor of meeting Derek's eyes when he looks her way, clearly showing he's heard her. She ducks a challenging eyebrow, daring him to confirm or contradict her statement. He uses one of her own tricks on her and gives her a cryptic half smile instead.

 _-Fair enough, lone wolf. Fair enough.-_ Although, not so _lone_ anymore.

“Dude,” Stiles says, catching the exchange of looks. “Are you guys talking?” He glares accusingly at the red head. “Hey, this is _our_ thing!”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Lydia says, smirking in a way that belies her statement completely.

“What _are_ you talking about?” Scott says.

“What were _you_ talking about?” Stiles asks, rounding back on Derek.

He considers, looking over Stiles' face for the right phrasing, then smirking back at Lydia. “Semantics.”

 

 

@@@

 

When they get to class, Old Hale isn't in yet. Which is unusual, but not unheard off. It veers into odd territory when he still hasn't shown up fifteen minutes later. Stiles stops chatting with Scott for a second to catch Derek's expression as he shifts in his seat to glance at the door one more time. He looks worried, but clueless.

Stiles wonders if he should be expecting something bad. It's uncommon for teachers to be late, but it doesn't mean anything is going on. Maybe the copy machine is jammed again – Allison saved the day, last time –, or Peter forgot he's got a small bladder and had to make a pit stop on the way. Maybe-... Finstock and Deaton enter the classroom. Stiles decides it's time to hop on the bandwagon and get worried.

“Good. You guys stay here.” Finstock says. “Well, uh, except-...”

“Students under eighteen. Please step out of the room. Classes have been canceled for the day, you are free to go back to the common areas.” Deaton says calmly. Finstock looks relieved he took over.

The pupils exchange uncomprehending glances, but before anyone can ask, the teachers have already left the room. “What's going on?” Jackson hisses at Derek. Most always assume he'll know more because of his filiation with Old Hale.

Derek shakes his head and pulls out his phone, looks down at it with a frown. “Anyone else has bars?”

Stiles panics a little bit when he sees he has no reception and can read on neighboring faces that they're all experiencing the same thing.

“They're jamming the signal.” Boyd says, flexing his fingers. “I can feel it.” Allison nods to comfirm.

"Can't you fix it, Argent?" Someone in the back asks as Jackson ponders. "But why?"

"So has to contain information. And panic." Lydia assumes. Stiles inwardly agrees. Even if it brings bad scenarios to mind, it's the only explanation he comes up with.

“That can't be good.” Scott says.

“Something's up.” Erica summarizes.

They all look at the door when other people walk in. The oldest kids from other classes. They're gathering everybody over eighteen. Stiles glances sideways at Scott, hoping to reassure himself, but his best friend looks as lost as he feels. He really wishes he was a girl right now, so it could be socially acceptable to just reach out and hold someone's hand. It wouldn't do anything, but Stiles is pretty sure it could help settle his nerves. He hates not knowing what's happening.

“Hello everybody.” Peter says from amongst the flow of students walking in. “Settle down, everyone. We'll be a minute more. All your questions will be answered in a jiff.”

Derek meets his uncle's eyes, but the older man gives him a contrite look that clearly means 'Sorry, buddy. You're gonna have to wait like the others.'.

Stiles tries to stave off the panic attack he feels coming. He's been in worse situations. He's been held underwater. He's had to swim for more than two hours in an underground water tank waiting to be rescued, alone with the prospect of drowning in a waste management facility. He's been faced with a mecha giant – because apparently, bad guys can also be nerds.

But not knowing has always been insufferable. That's why he had a nightlight until he started sleeping in a dorm room and had to switch to books on tape and ear-buds so as to not keep Scott up. That's why he's staved off telling people about his ability for fear of _whatever_ would happen. The unknown is _terrifying_.

He focuses on something. Something random. Like Derek's bouncing knee.

Wait. Derek is bouncing his leg.

Derek Hale, monster of stoicism and statue like immobility is bouncing. His. Leg.

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god._

This is _so_ not helping.

Deaton and Finstock come back in along with other teachers. It's not the complete staff team – the other half are probably containing the rest of the students –, but it makes the moment feel official and... about to begin. They seem to have a heated whispered debate about who should be talking to the kids. At some point Old Hale's snaps angrily and glances at Lydia and his nephew over his shoulder – Derek looks away immediately –, probably reminding them of eavesdropping abilities. In reaction, a few reach out and push him towards the students. Peter huffs and glares, but takes the floor.

“Alright everyone. We have a situation.” He purses his lips and rocks on his heels. “Who's heard of Fort Longview?”

 _He's kidding, right?_ Stiles has time to think before the potential meaning hits him.

Fort Longview. As in, the Federal High Security Penitentiary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm being mean by stopping this here, but it'll be updated soon. It's the best spot to cut the story in half. ^^
> 
> I hope you enjoy it so far.


	6. Chapters Ten & Eleven

10.

 

Everything is still in the classroom. _Stiles_ is still. Nobody bothers answering Peter's question out loud. Of course they know about the prison. Mostly, because it's only a little over a hundred miles east, and because it's known, in the 'special' world, for being the place you're sent if you misbehave.

There are places that contain people that have lost control of their abilities, or have harmful ones. There are psychiatric hospitals, low level security prison, etc... But Fort Longview is where psychopaths, spree killers, and supremacists are sent. Basically, it's the place you don't want to have associated with 'we have a situation'. The look on Professor Hale's face says he hates that he just had to.

“There's been an incident at Fort Longview.” He explains. “It lead to a prisoner riot and a breach.”

“A breach.” Stiles echoes without meaning to.

Peter's eyes settle on him briefly. “Yes. Most of the prison staff is... down. And inmates are getting out.”

“ _Are_?! As in, 'still are'?!” Scott cries out.

Finstock's eyes skitter across the floor. Peter looks back at his colleagues and sighs. “As in, the gates are wide open. So they're probably all out by now.”

“Shit.”

“We all know that most inmates in this prison are specials. Like us.”

“Only deadly.” Someone says.

“Speak for yourself,” Mindy hisses. Lydia looks offended, but Stiles is pretty sure Mindy's not being cocky, or joking at such a time. She's trying to reassure herself. Deep down, she is still a young girl in over her head like the rest of them.

Then it hits him and he narrows his eyes at her.

Before he can question anything, Peter speaks again and he focuses back on the matter at hand. “Squadron 59 and 82 are on site. However, since the prison break has occurred, inmates seem to have split up in small groups or even gone on their own. They have difficulties wrangling everybody back in.”

“Are they okay?” Derek asks. Stiles swallows, and so do a lot of kids. They all know someone or have relatives in Squadrons.

“They have one soldier down, not fatal. A few minor injuries. Nothing alarming reported so far.” It sounds like press conference talk, but Derek seems to relax a little. Stiles' heard it said that the Hales can listen to your heart and tell if you're lying. It takes it as a good sign.

Deaton delivers the punchline. “Other teams would take too much time to deploy and or are busy containing other events. They've called upon us for backup.” Truth be told, Stiles was expecting it. It was either that or the announcement that the school would be evacuated for the time being due to the closeness and relation to the problem.

“.... seriously?” A small voice asks.

“They're turning to students. We're all going to die.” Jackson says blankly. Lydia grips his hand until her knuckles turn white.

“It's nothing like that,” Finstock assures them.

Harris steps up, looking less smug and despicable than usual. “They need manpower to contain however many are left once we get there, which will be a lot less than they had to begin with. However they will be more widely spread. They need us to help cover more ground. So far they're on foot and they've made sure to capture the ones who could provide faster travel options first. As you know, most powers are contained within the facility, but the speed at which they regain their abilities is unpredictable as it depends on each individual.”

There's a moment of silence during with they all process the news.

“We will be briefed on the profiles that haven't been captured yet with the latest intel once we're on our way.” Peter clasps his hands together, standing straighter, and Stiles is suddenly reminded that he's a Squadron veteran. “Now. Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to ask you to weigh your decision very carefully. Some of you intended to integrate the hierarchy, some of you didn't. There is absolutely nothing mandatory in this assignment. There will be real life battlefield conditions, with real weapons and powers. Life and death. We will be there with you, but we won't be able to back each and everyone of you up at all times. You have to understand it and think it through before signing up.” He glances at Deaton and Finstock, exchanging a nod before finishing. “We have gathered you all because you are over eighteen and in the last two years of your studies, which means you have at least two supervised deployments under your belt. However, let me stress this again, you are absolutely free to refuse and stand down. You won't be blamed if you do.”

“Tss...” Stiles is amongst the first ones to get up. It's part of his fear of the unknown, the reject of inaction. The general population is in danger. He could do something about it. Better yet, he's asked if he will. How could he not?

Boyd and Erica rise, Isaac is clutching at his desk, looking like he's ready to throw up. Mindy stands then, wearing a mask of fake bravado that isn't fooling anyone. Scott is still sitting, looking up at Stiles in fear. But Allison gets up, a picture of resolve and fierceness, so he follows. Stiles wants to tell him to sit back down, to not do it for her, but his friend meets his eyes like he read his thoughts and nods. He's not. She just gave him the last dose of courage.

One by one, chairs rattle and people stand. Jackson tries to pull Lydia back down, but she refuses. He follows her up without letting go of her hand, throat bobbing convulsively as he refuses to acknoledge her head shakes. Peter's eyes gain laser sharp focus on Derek when he unfolds from his chair slowly, whatever silent conversation they're having has Peter blink and eventually nod.

In the end, half the gathered students have joined in. They're told to go change into field clothes, pack their weapons and specific tools, and gather on the Lacrosse field thirty minutes later.

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles doesn't know what he expected, but the eery silence of people too scared to break it isn't it. The only sounds are hurried footsteps, rustle of packing motions, muttered curses when something is dropped by shaky hands.

He jogs back up the stairs to his room with a couple of his combat staffs, drops them on the bed and bends down to adjust the lace on his left boot. He goes over everything in his head. The clothes, the flash grenades, his staffs, his .45 cal. First time testing his ability on the field. Isn't that what he'd imagined?

He stands up, ready, and catches Scott looking at him, hands twisting on a jumper. “Stiles...”

He takes three long strides to round his bed and wrap him in a hug. “We'll be fine, Scott. We're trained. We got this.”

“They're prison people, Stiles. Nutcases. Dangerous.”

Stiles pulls back and gives him a crooked smile he doesn't really feel. “So are we.”

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles hates himself for jumping when Derek drops his bag next to his and Scott's. His best friend is a few strides away, wrapped in Allison's embrace. Somehow, the situation made a lot of people a lot less minding of PDA. Couples and friends are seen huddling close, holding hands and hugging.

Stiles notices that Derek's gear is like Peter's. He's always had a riot at the idea that the Professor's pants were tear-away, picturing Old Hale trying to look serious while pulling stripper moves on the battlefield. It doesn't feel so funny, today. Stiles also knows Derek has never worn the same before, which means he's intending to shift completely if push comes to shove.

Their eyes meet briefly, an exchange of 'you okay?' glances, refusing to be spoken out loud.

“Hey,” Mindy greets, unusually quiet. Her eyes settle on the combat staff Stiles' holding in his hand and leaning on. “Is that the one I got for your birthday?”

Stiles smirks, snaps the discreet mechanism and lifts it from the ground just enough to tap once. With a swooshing sound, a blade springs out from the other extremity. Derek takes a startled step back and Stiles heart goes a little wild. Mindy is smiling up at the weapon, like it's reassuring. Like they're safe.

Because they are, right? They're armed. They're trained. They got this.

“Why are you even here?” Stiles asks her. “You're not even seventeen yet.”

Derek looks at him, then her, like it hadn't occurred to him before.

“I'm also top of the class in field assignment,” She hisses with a cold look. “And emancipated.”

Stiles wishes he didn't know she would gut him if he tried to hug her. He wishes he had someone to hold onto right now.

They all look up when two army choppers approach. Scott is jogging back to them along with Allison. Derek twists around to watch, bringing himself closer to Stiles' side. Everybody is quiet under the roaring of the blades. “We'll be okay,” Derek says. Stiles barely hears him. “Right?”

“Dude. Don't ask me.”

 

 

@@@

 

Stiles watches Mindy nervously twirl her butterfly knives open and closed until he goes cross-eyed. His body is being lulled into sleepiness my the vibration of the chopper and the random jolts that rock him against Scott's side. His mind, on the other hand, is a constant whirr of panic. Panic at the fact that he's halfway to dosing off and won't be sharp when they get there. Panic at the idea that they're going into battle. That any of them could die. Or all of them. Panic at change. At what's coming. At the unknown.

Again.

Derek's leg is bouncing again.

Derek and Peter are sitting across from Stiles, and when he looks up he catches Peter's eye. Peter, who is sometimes flirty, mostly cryptic, occasionally creepy, is... forty. He looks tired, all the usual swagger and smirks stripped away. There's actually a question in his eye, a worry mixed with an attempt at reassurance. _Are you okay? You'll be okay._ Two conflicting messages that fit the situation like a glove.

Right now, when Stiles compares the two Hales, he can really see the family resemblance. When Peter's face is blank and tensed, there is no doubt Derek is related to the teacher.

With a pang in his chest, Stiles realizes there probably is something more to the haunted, faraway look in Peter's eyes. There are memories. Of the battlefield.

Stiles doesn't know anything, but he assumes Peter's chosen to walk away from the life and teach for a reason. Whatever it was, or whether he ever intended to go back, he's now being forced into it.

Stiles ponders. Is it worse, in this situation, to be faced with the unknown like he is, or to remember exactly what you're getting into.

All he knows now – which may change, he also knows that, because he knows himself pretty well by now – is that his half made choice is now a done deal: He's not a Squadron person. He's got a scientific mind. He'll go into research. Or teaching. Oh, _god_ , Peter would love to have him as a TA. The though almost makes him grin.

It must show on his face because Derek makes questioning eyebrows at him. Stiles almost laughs at the absurdity, and blushes, hiding his face in his hands, rubbing hard to wake himself up.

A new jolt sorts the priorities again. The present is the present. What Stiles was thinking of is the future.

He thinks of his mother.

“ _But I don't understand.” A twelve year old Stiles scratches the tip of his nose, frustrated that something stubbornly remains out of his grasp._

“Tomorrow is the day that never comes. _Think about it. Think hard, baby. Why is it?”_

“ _But tomorrow it'll be tomorrow. So... it'll come. Yesterday's tomorrow's today, so it did come.”_

“ _This is where we get tomato to-mah-to with the semantics, honey.” His mom gives him a smile, tucking a loose strand of her long strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “Technically, when we get to tomorrow, tomorrow will be called 'today'.”_

_Stiles blinks at his mom. “... Oh.” He smiles. “Oh, yeah. I get it.” Then his face falls. “Yeah, no. What does it have to do with the girl from school?”_

“ _Don't tell her how you feel later. Don't tell her 'tomorrow'. Tell her today. Tell her now.”_

“ _... Don't miss my chance?”_

“ _Yes, baby.”_

It's bittersweet to realize that growing up means leaving your life in the future. You do your homework today to reap the fruits not even tomorrow but _someday_. You eat right, you work out hard, so that maybe, next summer, you'll look half as good as your best friend in your swimming trunks. You sacrifice things you want, make hard choices, so that one day you will be the man you'd like to be.

So what if tomorrow truly never comes?

A jolt that has nothing to do with transportation brings him back from his thoughts. He glares at Scott, the guy has bony elbows. “What?” Scott jerks his chin, gesturing Stiles to look ahead.

He meets Derek's questioning eyes. 'What's up with you?' he mouths across the middle way.

Stiles ponders, then smirks a little when he says quietly. “Semantics.”

 

* * *

 

 11.

 

They get the briefings while they're starting to descend. There are fifty plus people they have left to gather. Most of the fatalities are on the inmates sides. Some of them resisted capture and refused to surrender and go back – which, in all honesty, Stiles can totally sympathize with. Jail is, after all, supposed to be a cautionary tale that makes you want to _not_ go – and some committed suicide when they got cornered, probably for similar reasons. According to their intel, some fights also broke out between inmates.

All in all, the two teams on site seem to have handled most of the problem. Which is a good and a bad thing. Stiles can read between the lines of the very carefully worded briefing: the worst ones are still out there.

They will be meeting Squadron 52's Team One on the ground and briefed personally by Sergeant Gregory Parker. He's somewhat of a legend at school. Stiles has concluded by the greeting over the radio that he and Hale go back. At some points Peter called him 'Boss' and once 'Teach'. Boss he can get, he is, after all, one. It doesn't necessarily mean that he was _Peter_ 's boss. But Teach?

Anything, really, to keep his brain focused on something else than the problem at hand. Namely, survive, try to help, not get anyone else killed because he's an idiot. That kind of thing.

Finstock has them pass around coms when the pilot announces they will be touching down in two minutes. Stiles sets his ear-bud easily and has to help Scott not put it in upside down. He could kiss his best friend for being his comic relief at such a time.

They expect battle and gunfire and explosions when they get there. Not two guys standing in an empty open field. Stiles watches the weeds flap away at the rottor's wind, they look like they're trying to run away.

They hold on to each other and whatever they can grab onto during the landing. If Scott feels how clammy and shaky Stiles' hand is, he doesn't comment on it.

When the engines stop and the rotors slow to a complete stop, they leave a ringing in Stiles' ears that make the whole situation feel unreal. He gets up and grabs his gear in a daze. His attention is caught by the sudden movement of Derek falling back in his seat, looking confusedly at the firm hand Peter's got on his arm.

Right now, he doesn't look like Old Hale, like a teacher or an authority figure. He's Peter, a family member. A little lost, a lot worried, and trying to hide it all and take charge. “Be careful,” he tells Derek. It's not quite an order.

Derek meets his eyes and gives a faint nod, trying for a smile. “You too,” he responds as Peter's hand slips away from his jacket. He holds up his arm, offering the outside of his forearm to his uncle. In a gesture that speaks of familiarity and tradition, Peter presses his own limb against it briefly, a parting gesture, before he gets up and slips a new mask on.

Commander Hale. Wow.

They all follow the teachers outside, jumping down on cotton legs. Stiles only stays upright because Boyd is there with an iron grip on his elbow when his knees give. “Stilinski. You alright?” Finstock asks quietly, looking ahead and pretending not to be talking when he comes to stand next to Stiles. So he does know how his name is spelled, then.

Stiles contracts his legs alternatively, swallows and clears his throat. Now is not the time to make anybody lose time because he's a wuss with a panic attack. He unfolds his fingers and wraps them back around his staff, Mindy's gift, and reminds himself that he is trained. He's good at what he does. He's got this. “Yes, sir,” he says in a steady voice he doesn't recognize. “Peachy.”

“This better be quick,” Finstock muses. This time, Boyd and Stiles stop pretending not to be engaged in a conversation and shoot him a confused look. Finstock eyes them. “Chocolate fudge tonight. You really think the others are going to leave us any if we don't get back there on time?”

Stiles adds the way Boyd's lip twitch into a smile to the list of positive things to hold on to.

They all gather, people standing a little closer than they usually wood, telling sign of emotions – albeit ignored and unspoken – running high. Peter and the Sergeant embrace and grin at each other for a second before they turn serious again. Parker claps Deaton on the shoulder with a warm smile that speaks of previous encounters. Finstock joins them quickly and shake hands solemnly.

Stiles feels Scott press against his side.

This is it.

 

 

@@@

 

They're divided into seven teams. The Sarg gives the number, but the teachers do the splitting. They know how their kids work, they also seem to try and to dispatch people with defensive powers, attack powers and useless-in-such-circumstances somewhat equally, so as to create the most balanced teams they can. The same goes for super-strong, super-healing types.

This is how Scott and Allison end up being separated. Deaton eyed Stiles and his best friend for a second and seemed to have decided not to split them up. Small mercies and all that. Despite the previous rules, Peter categorically refused to be dispatched to a different team than his nephew. This is how they become the Alpha Team. Commander Hale as the head, Derek, Scott and Stiles. Then Mindy, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson are added into the mix. Mindy and Boyd, Stiles gets. Isaac or Jackson, too. But fire _and_ ice?

Meh. Why the fuck not? The more the safer, he figures. He's almost sure that Jackson wouldn't let him die. You know, if it didn't take too much effort to help him out.

They are told to huddle close and touch, which they do with a lot less jokes and sly grins than they usually would. Stiles feels his heartbeat skyrocket when he's got not only got his hand on Scott's shoulder, but Peter's on his upper arm and... is that Derek that just grabbed his fingers? Okay, it's far from the hold you would take to actually 'hold someone's hand' but it's... God, he doesn't want to let go.

He wants to be brought back to a week ago, raging over maths homework. Or a month ago when he thought Derek wanted him squashed like a bug. Peter and Derek's hands squeeze gently and he wonders if they were both intentionally listening in on him panicking and trying to bring him some sort of reassurance. He wonders whether they know how in synch they are.

Serg. Parker radios someone and suddenly they're a guy popping in out of nowhere in front of them. “Location?” He's given coordinates by the other Squadron officer, he turns back to them and takes a deep breath, looking like someone steeling themselves for physical effort. He reaches forward and grabs Boyd's free hand as if to shake it.

In a flash, they're somewhere else. Scott gasps and Stiles feels Derek jump. Really? Stiles _is_ amazed, don't get him wrong, but... Didn't they expect teleportation? Have then never read any comic books? Or fantasized about abilities? Why else did they think they all had to gather in the middle of nowhere and touch? What did they think the man that had just magically appeared in front of them could do?

“Good luck,” The guy says, solemnly, and disappears just as an explosion that sounds like a rocket being launched startles the whole bunch.

Rockets.

Stiles gives the staff in his hand a critical look. _Great._

Here goes nothing.

 

 

@@@

 

It all becomes a blurr. They're quickly spotted by the officers on sight and they run into action like they've been taught. They try not to step in each other's way, but never to get too far so that they won't know if one of them is in trouble.

The action is pretty easy to get to. It finds them. A man is charging forward, barreling towards them a machine gun in hand. Luckily, it seems either jammed or out of ammo, but that doesn't keep the guy from continuing forward. He has machetes hanging from his belt and flapping his sides.

Stiles understands the problem when a placating shot aimed for his leg bounces off an invisible barrier and seems to dissolve in thin air. He readjusts his grip, mentally counting how many blades he's got on him and feeling his gun at his back. At some point, the guy is going to have to let someone into his force field if he's looking to attack like he seems to.

Stiles' staff is longer than a machete.

He's jolted to the side by Mindy pushing past him, and planting her feet into the ground, right in the lunatic's path. A Squadron guy looks at her like she's insane. The slack jawed look on his face may also be because he has registered how young she looks. But Peter makes a calming gesture to the soldier and Stiles positions himself to back her up. He knows what she can do.

Mindy squints at the inmate and doesn't move while he keeps charging, then she bows her head in concentration. Stiles hopes she knows what she's doing and will have enough time, because he's getting close. But then her lips twitch and she looks up. The guy falters, falls to his knees with his hands pressed to his head, tripping forward and face-planting with the inertia of his run. Mindy's psionic blast hit him dead on.

The Squadron guy – Ed? – looks mildly impressed when he wrangles the guy in and zip ties his wrists, tagging him with gps for the retrieval team. Stiles looks away when he hears the distinctive crack of ice shattering and finds Boyd, Jackson and Scott fighting off a hail of bullets. Mindy races to them. Stiles wishes he could do something like stop a gunshot.

His ability is too fresh. Too weak.

So goddamn useless.

The inmate on the floor suddenly lunges for him. Apparently, Stiles gathers while he's got extra large hands crushing his windpipe, having the power to shield yourself also means you can bust zipties. The Squadron guy is running back, not daring to shoot with Stiles so tangled with his assailant. It's all on Stiles.

Except the guy makes Boyd look medium sized. And his vision is starting to get spotty.

He claws at the guys' wrists, and tries to shift his hold just enough to breathe, to make a sound. He lets out a roar of pain and desperation and sheer rage, pushing forward so hard that his abdominal muscles feel like they're tearing. But it's working. He can feel the hold loosening.

He still can't breathe but it's less excruciating. He just has to hold on, keep pushing, keep going. The aggressor seems angrier, aware he's battling something else than a choking teenager. He does until he can feel sweet, blessed oxygen sip in, and the guy is thrown backwards, only now straddling his thighs. The war cry Stiles ended up shouting dies in his throat, leaving burning ambers behind. His eyes sting and his lungs are on fire, but he's got no time to think or recover. The Squadron guy tries to shoot the inmate but it doesn't work. From the way he turned toward the military man, Stiles gets that he can either only shield in front of him, or that it takes more effort to make a whole bubble.

Before he can think of what to do with the information, or before his attacker can turn back to him, a growling blur of movement tackles him off of Stiles. Fully shifted, huffing and puffing, it even manages to scare the convict, judging by the yelp he lets out. Mindy is back, and she yells not to kill him. She gives him a hard stare and he falls back like a rag doll.

“He'll be out for a good five hours,” She huffs when the Squadron guy looks at her. “No killing unless absolutely unavoidable, right?” They had the 'deadly action authorized' speech earlier. Stiles didn't think she was listening.

The thing, the – the wolf, turns to Stiles and its eyes are burning yellow. “Oh, Peter. Hey.” He just got rescued by his political science and history professor. How weird is that? Now that he's got time to see, it's clear even beyond the fur, built and eye color that it's not Derek crouching next to him. He wonders whether it's normal that he finds the way each of them move so easy to recognize. “Nice moves.”

 

 

@@@

 

The rest of the fights work out much better for Stiles. He gets slashed in the arm pretty bad at some point, but he doesn't get choked to death again so he counts all of them as wins.

He uses his ability, because there is no time for life crises and being shy in battle situations. Not when you're in danger, not when your friends are. He doesn't think anyone's noticed, though. He didn't have to use it too visibly, and, in their defense, they were pretty preoccupied.

Isaac gets knocked into a tree pretty badly and is out for a couple of very frightening minutes. Jackson almost looks ready to give him a hug when he comes around. The back of his head is bleeding, he's zapped off the field by the same man who got them all here in the first place.

Boyd seems immortal. Or something. He's hit by a flare gun at close range and, somehow, between howling in pain and beating the shooter unconscious, he manages to siphon the flare itself to heal the chest wound it gave him. Everybody more or less gapes at him at that, safe for the now out-cold asshole that shot him. Stiles wonders what would have happened if Boyd had been hit with something lifeless that he couldn't have channeled like a plain old bullet or a bolt, but he doesn't want to find out.

The display of power on their side stops an inmate in his tracks. He just stops walking, cups both hands under his gun and deposits it on the ground like it was a cradle, surrendering. Stiles understand the impulse and makes a mental note to always stay on whichever side Boyd is fighting – it's a joke, if Boyd ever went darkside he knows he couldn't do anything but stand up to him, but it would _suck_.

In the end, they wrangle five inmates back into jail life. They're told only two more are in their area. There's one more casualty on the Squadron side. Greenberg and Erica are wounded but they'll be fine – broken bones and concussions.

The two inmate left are twins, and supposed to be traveling together. “Description?” Peter calls into the walkie.

“Any of you read the Fantastic Four?”

“I have,” Stiles pipes up, surprising absolutely no one.

“Remember The Thing?”

“Oh.” Stiles loves The Thing. He's epic. However, he never imagined fighting against it. Let alone times two. “Yay,” he says flatly.

 

 

@@@

 

“It's like an armor!!” Jackson calls when he pushes up from where he's landed and runs back into battle. He opens the coms to repeat the finding to the whole team. “It's like an armor! Aim for the joints! It's weaker there.”

The beast they're facing has large clumps of what look like scales. Stiles got backhanded pretty hard when he got too close, but from what he'd seen they look solidified. Although they appear to be part of the body, they look hardened to a point they're akin to wood, or stone, in patches. From the sound bullets of his .45 and the blades make when they collide with it, he's not too far off. Which is just _great_ , because it means most of their weapons are useless.

“Where's Derek?!” Stiles cries out, looking around. Two seconds ago, he was fighting with a couple of Squadron guys the other giant – because of course, they couldn't simply be regular sized unhurtable monsters, nooo... – but now the army guys are down and neither Derek and the beast are to be seen. “Derek?!” he calls into the coms.

“He chased it uphill!” Scott calls, dodging a slow but oh so powerful looking swing of stony fist. Holy hell, Stiles is never doing this again.

“Derek, do you copy?!” Peter calls, distracted, and is sent flying for his instant of inattention.

“...-opy.” Stiles sags in relief when he hears the distant sounding voice in his ear.

“Location?” Stiles asks, eyes locked with the gasping Commander. One of the soliders waves him off when he goes to check on him.

“... just uphill. Am fine. Could use som-...” Stiles freezes – so does Mindy, and she almost gets squished into a pancake for it, thank fuck for Jackson and Scott's reflexes – when Derek gets cut off by a loud smack and cry of pain. The communication fizzles out and the com goes silent.

There a beat during which Jackson doges a hit, looking like he's about to run to Derek. A gunshot cracks and Stiles is seconds away from bolting uphill. Then Derek comes back online, panting.

“I could use someone to back me up. Just one. Don't send a whole team. It's pretty weak, spare-...” the communication crackles and the line goes dead again.

“I got you,” Stiles says, taking off towards the steep hillside, meeting Peter's eye. “It's Stiles. I'm on my way.”

The coms make a sound like something sizzling in a frying pan and Derek's voice comes back on, barely audible. “...-opy. … two minutes... see us...” Mindy lets out a cry of rage and tries sending another blast. It doesn't seem to work with those.... things. “... ear-... damaged...”

“I copy, Derek. I gotcha.”

Stiles is already out of sight when he ears Jackson argue. “I should go! He can't do anything!”

“He can do plenty,” Peter growls back, then into the coms. “And he's not reckless. If they need us, he'll radio in.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Stiles pants.


	7. Chapter Twelve & Epilogue

12.

 

Stiles runs up the hill, blessing his habit to jog at any opportunity. He had hoped Derek was kidding when he said he was two minutes out, but the incline is a bitch. He keeps going up, the hill becoming an increasingly dangerous cliff by his side.

When he gets up there, he's panting, even more soaked in sweat than he was when he started. He's immensely relieved to see a black shape bound away from a punch and growl. “On site,” he calls into the coms. “Derek is fine. Going in.”

“Copy.”

Derek wasn't lying when he said it was weakened. There are scratches all over his elbows and knees. A lot on his throat and upper chest. Derek went with Jackson's insight and it worked well. The cuts are deep and some of them are bleeding. So the gooey liquid's got a tangerine hue and is probably far from classic human blood, but Stiles assumes the thing shouldn't be leaking. “Derek!” he calls, rushing in.

The – he's gonna call it a wolf and make things simpler – turns his head towards him for an instant of acknowledgment, and they're off fighting side by side. Stiles manages to jab his bladed staff in the back of the thing's knee and it howls in pain. He has half a second to smirk, before he realizes his weapon is stuck and he just managed to make the inmate more pissed off. He gets backhanded away angrily – again – and the only bright side to it is that he held on to his weapon so tight that it came loose with him. Derek snarls and goes for the wounded knee, slashing repeatedly.

Stiles wants to tell him to watch out, but Derek seems intent to stay in harms way to keep clawing away until it does down. Winded, Stiles pushes off the floor and his shoulder protests nastily. Great. He's going to be all black and blue if he ever makes it out. The good thing is, it's the same arm he got slashed earlier, and it's not his strongest one.

He's already running back towards the fight when Derek gets hit. Uppercut straight in the face and chest. He lets out a cry and actually flies off the ground. Stiles knows he would be dead if he'd taken that blow, but Derek yips and whimpers when he lands, disoriented, but conscious.

“No!!” Stiles growls loudly, as the thing looks about to march onto Derek and punch him into the ground. They're lucky these twins aren't brilliant masterminds, but their brutal force is deadly in hand to hand.

Stiles runs like he never has before, taking a long drag of air into lungs. “Sh...” A by stander could think he was swearing, but the quiet hiss goes on and on. Derek is sprawled on the floor, looking past the thing at Stiles when he starts running in an upward spiral. On air.

He runs the last few steps lifting his knees as high as he can, as if he was doing suicide runs on invisible bleachers. Before his breath runs out, he manages to get his feet higher than the thing's head. While it's still disoriented and looking for him, Stiles tilts his staff so the deadly side points down, jumps up, stops hissing and dives.

The blade sinks into the thing's neck easily, then he hears cracks as it breaks through tendons and bones. They both fall, Stiles making a sound to catch himself. One leg down, foot kicked out, the other folded for – more or less – trajectory control. He falls on his knees to the grass, one hand hitting the floor hard to prevent himself from eating grass. “More like 'stink up the landing'...” he mutters to himself, then looks up as the inhuman weight collapses next to him.

His staff is speared right through the giant, from the back of the neck through the chest and it's sticking out between ribs.

His head spins with adrenaline. He feels his body bubble with laughter and energy, high on the rush and the avoided danger. He shakes his head to clear it.

He looks back at Derek, he's wincing through the change. Suddenly, on fair human skin, the amount of blood is a lot more visible and scarier. There's a large gash on his chest with wood splinters in it, his brow is bleeding and the apple of his cheek has taken a mean hit that left the flesh bruised and the skin raw. “Are you okay?!”

Judging by the way Derek is staring at him when he rushes over, he mustn’t be too severely hit. Either that or he's brain damaged. Which really isn't something Stiles shouldn't be thinking about right now.

“You ran.” Derek said. “On air.”

“On sound,” Stiles clarifies, ducking his head. “I can make solid-...”

“Of course it would be your fucking mouth,” Derek says, his fingers reaching up to touch it. “Your goddamn mouth, you never-...”

Stiles thinks – _Fuck it. –_ and kisses him.

It's gross, and it hurts, because his nose is bleeding and his upper lip is cracked so bad that it stings enough to make his eyes tear up. But it isn't why Stiles moans. Well, it's part of it, but it's definitely not the reason why it sounds torn from his chest.

If Derek had a shirt – holy shit, Derek doesn't have a shirt on!! – Stiles' hand would likely be fisted in it, instead, it's touching Derek's neck where he thinks he hasn't seen blood. He's pretty sure it's going to get yanked away in a second when he feels Derek shifting and fingers grazing the heel of his hand.

An explosion downhill has him scrambling backwards, falling on his ass and his hand flying for his com. “Everybody okay?!”

Stiles swallows thickly, meeting Derek's worried eyes, before Peter calls back. “Everyone fine! Situation contained. Stiles?”

“We're fine. The... thing over there is... It looks dead.” Stiles looks over at it.

“No heartbeat.” Derek says, getting up. Oh, right. Mostly naked.

“Derek says it's dead,” he relays over the coms in a strangled voice.

“Okay. Get back.”

“On our way.” Stiles flinches at the squelching sound of Derek pulling his staff out of the body. It's repairable, he thinks.

He comes closer, putting up a gps tag for the retrieval team. The thing looks weirder now that he can see it from up close. It would be really cool if it hadn't tried to reduce all his friends to mush. He plants the tag and straightens up.

He's got his mouth open, about to ask if Derek's ready to go – about to ignore anything and everything off protocol that could have transpired recently – when he finds Derek staring at him. Clearly, he doesn't intend to give Stiles an easy out. _Oh, shit._

Stiles scrambles backwards when Derek walks closer. “No, no, no, no, no...” he mutters in a panic, and Derek's steps stutter, hitting invisible walls that collapse between Stiles words.

Derek huffs in anger and frustration. “I'm not gonna hurt you!”

“You're not?” Stiles hiccups. “I just-... I-...” kissed you. He just kiss raped Derek Hale. Nephew of a professor and board member at BHA. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god_.

“I didn't exactly stop you, did I?” Derek says, taking one last cautious step forward, coming into normal conversation distance. _What?_

Stiles stares at him. What did he- He-... What?

Derek keeps holding his gaze and give him a small grin. The kind of grin his mom used to give him sometimes just before she called him a dummy.

“Huh.”

Derek looks past him. “We should head back.”

“Right. Yeah. We should. Totally.” He looks down the cliff at a small lake and his thoughts turn wicked.

 

 

 

 

@@@

 

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, already started downhill, when he notices Stiles has edged closer to the cliff and isn't following.

“Do you trust me?”

“Uh...”

Right. Not necessarily a good question to ask right now. He turns and faces Derek. “Can you hold on to me?” he asks. “Cause I sure as hell can't carry you on my own.”

“... what?” Derek looks confused as hell, but he's walking back.

“You gave me a demo. And then I saw you in action.” Stiles glances back at the body they're leaving behind. “Maybe I owe you one.”

Derek looks at him, then glances in the void beside them. “Or maybe you just want to jump off a cliff.”

Stiles shrugs a shoulder, fighting a grin. “Maybe.”

Derek steps closer to the edge and looks down with a hint of worry on his face.

“I can go alone, if you want. I just-...” Stiles rocks on his heels. “I'm still a little crazed from all the action...” Derek lifts an eyebrow at him. “The _battlefield_ action. Mind off the gutter, mister. That's my territory.”

“Mh hm.” Derek looks down again and sighs. “Fine. I can pull my weight. What are you thinking?”

Stiles knows Derek can hear his heart pick up in excitement. He wasn't sure if he would go for it if Derek had declined and he's glad he doesn't have to make that decision. “Hold on to me?”

Stiles toes the edge and Derek comes closer, hovering. “How?”

“Arms around my hips.”

“Huh?”

“So you won't hurt me, for one.” Stiles demonstrates by digging the tips of his fingers into his belly. “And I kinda need to breathe for this whole sound thing to come out.”

“Right.”

Adrenaline makes Stiles do stupid things. Like ask Derek to spoon him before jumping off a cliff. He tries not to over-think it now that it's too late. “Okay, so, when I say jump, push forward. Far. We're gonna go down, like base jumping, you don't wanna hit the rocks.”

“You're very comforting,” Derek mutters behind him, and his breath is warm and wet in his neck. Stiles swallows.

“And _go_!”

 

 

 

 

@@@

 

As much as Stiles has always been deadly terrified of stepping out into uncharted territory, he's never associated the panic it brings on with free falling. Because free falling? Is awesome!

It only lasts for a couple of seconds, but it's exhilarating. Stiles has had a lifetime's supply of exhilaration in one day and he's drunk on it. He palms Derek's forearm to check that he's holding on – although he can feel how close together they're pressed – and starts humming.

The jolt of catching Derek's weight makes him grunt. They jostle in the air when the sound cutting off makes them drop freely again. Stiles resumes humming, and this time they land less heavily. Derek yelps and holds on tighter. Stiles resists the giggles bubbling up because they would interrupt his steady stream of sound again and he doesn't want to scare Derek for life.

The weight of Derek around his pelvis is uncomfortable and edging on painful with the utility belt digging in, but he doesn't care. It's foolish and childish and totally awesome. It's also a fascinating experience. His ability is mysterious. He could stop Derek from approaching him, but right now, he's the only one feeling the imaginary bobsleigh tracks they're racing down on, and Derek is hanging off him in the air pretty much like Stiles is flying. He'll have to talk to Deaton about that. Maybe he'll have an explanation after he's done yelling at Stiles for experimenting on the battlefield.

What was that Peter said about Stiles not being reckless?

“Holy shit...” Derek is hissing as they whiz by treetops. “Holy shit, Stiles!”

Stiles smiles goofily, because as much as the first one sounded mildly intimidated and uncomfortable, the second exclamation might as well have been 'this is so cool, man!'.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from the sight – even though they're watering from the wind – and feels for Derek's hand. He's got both forearms flat on Stiles' pelvis, and he grabs back when Stiles' fingers reach him. Stiles squeezes a warning, and he stops humming to take a deep breath.

Derek gasps again, but he doesn't tense up against him, just catches himself – more smoothly this time – when Stiles resumes making sound. They're going to reach the lake soon, so Stiles makes them take a swift turn to slow down, digging his heel as hard as he can. Damn, someone else's weight makes a lot of difference. His last sound is a long winded “wooooohooooo!!” that has Derek laughing.

Instinctively, Derek lets go a second before they hit the water so they don't crash into each other.

The water landing would definitely have been smoother if Stiles had anticipated the weight issue. He gets water up his nose and swallows a good gulp of it, comes out coughing and laughing, breathless from the slide. Next to him, Derek comes up and shakes the water out of his hair. He looks ridiculous. Also, shirtless and wet and... ooh, Stiles realizes lake water into a wound probably isn't the best thing. It looks like it's already healing, though. Damn supermen.

Stiles climbs out on all fours, his gear soaked and heavy. He tries not to focus on Derek's clothes when he walks to shore. What's left of the tear-away pants look like black denim swimming trunks, with stretchy fabric on the side to contain the shift, and it's all glued to Derek's thighs and-...

Derek slips on something and grabs Stiles' outstretched hand for balance as he takes his last step onto the grass. “Okay,” he says, huffing water off his upper lip and staring up at where they came from. “This was positively cool,” He states, then looks back at Stiles. “But I'm never doing it again.”

Stiles laughs. He still is when the rest of the team comes running in – Scott is at normal speed, so they probably weren't that worried.

“How the hell did you get here?!” Jackson says.

Derek eyes his uncle and points at Stiles. “He did it.”

 

* * *

 

 

13\. Epilogue

 

“You made it swallow a grenade?!” Stiles squeaks, shivering under the blanket thrown over his shoulders.

Mindy gives him a look and mimics his tone. “You went medieval on it?!”

Stiles shrugs. “Joss Whedon is my inspiration for many things.”

She snorts, but Scott is grinning. So what if they're nerds? Nerds are in. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derek walk back towards them with his pants back on and resists the urge to ask him where they were all this time. He reaches the group and sits down beside Stiles.

“You're not cold?” Stiles asks.

Derek looks down at his chest and makes a face at the wound, there's a small trail of blood on one corner. “I didn't really feel like a shirt.”

“Let me radio in our healer,” Ed offers.

“Oh, that's handy.” Stiles says, tonguing his split lip.

“Stop it.” Scott tells him, sounding hilariously like Melissa.

“The others are coming in. The choppers are picking us up here,” Jackson announces, arriving with Boyd. “Isaac's being healed. He's with them.”

“Thank fuck,” Scott whispers.

“We're okay,” Mindy states, like she's testing it out loud. “We made it.”

“The Squadron's got casualties. But none BHA.” Peter says, coming and squeezing Stiles' shoulder. “Thanks for having Derek's back.”

“I'm thinking of becoming a teacher,” Stiles blurts out, and both Hales burst into laughter.

Derek eyes him and elbows him gently. “You saved my ass out there.” He pauses. Stiles ignores the baffled look on Jackson's face. Scott is grinning proudly. “Granted, you then scared the hell out of me, but...”

“Derek's afraid of heights,” Peter adds in, and his nephew glares.

Stiles jumps, mortified. “You should have told me!”

“What?” Boyd is saying.

“I didn't,” Derek reminds him. “Moving on.”

“Are we done showing off for today, Stiles?” Peter asks, usual devious grin back in place.

Stiles blushes, aware that it may be what he's been doing. “... think I'm good.”

“I could use a shower,” Derek muses.

“A scalding hot one,” Boyd purrs dreamily. Peter smirks.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stiles says, shaken by a full bodied shiver. He definitely isn't protesting when both Scott and Derek press into his sides.

Shouts come from somewhere over the trees. Stiles knows it's a patchwork of clearings and woods around here. “They're here,” Peter announces, and walks off, gesturing for them to follow.

Stiles spends the entire way hating his shoes. How comes _they_ 're making squishy sounds every time he takes a step and Derek's don't? He needs to rethink going for a swim in his gear.

Scott takes off speed-running when he sees Allison ahead of them. She seems to have a gash on her forehead to match Derek's. Stiles smirks. Everybody looks fine besides cuts and bruises. They look badass. They _were_ badass today.

He thinks about Finstock and chocolate fudge and things that come in the future. He smiles and suddenly he doesn't give a fuck about his boots.

Derek stops just before they step out into the clearing. Stiles looks back questioningly.

“Just so we're clear,” Derek says, and, grabbing the cover around Stiles' shoulders with both hands, he pushes him back into a tree and kisses him.

Stiles makes an embarrassing sound, but Derek is groaning into his mouth and it really doesn't matter. He scrambles to free his hands from under the rough fabric and manages to lift one arm. One hand finds Derek's side, skin cold and barely dry, the other slides into wet hair and Stiles' knees go weak. This waking dream is pretty nice.

He's very thankful for the support of the tree when Derek's tongue meets his. His hand tightens convulsively in Derek's hair and Derek _moans_. After a moment, he pulls away and huffs, licking his lips and pressing his forehead to Stiles'.

Stiles pants. Holy hell. That was almost worth all the pining he's been doing.

Derek pulls back, meets his eyes, and lifts an eyebrow.

“Y-... okay. We're... clear.” Stiles blinks. Derek's eyes flick to his lips. “You know, I didn't think I could be _more_ in a hurry to get back to school.”

Derek grins, shaking himself into composure. “Let's go.”

Stiles is very glad he's got a heavy woolen cover to wrap around himself and hide how much he'd been involved in that kiss. Granted, he's wearing heavy duty military gear, but he's pretty sure he'd be busted anyway. He doesn't look to check, but he's pretty sure Derek, being older, has a little more control than he does.

Although, it would be really cool if he didn't.

Still not checking.

 

 

 

 

@@@

 

Survival has made everybody a lot more tactile and uninhibited than the prospect of death. He can count two more couples that he hadn't known about before. If Erica and Boyd hadn't been official, they clearly are now. Just looking at them makes Stiles wants to grab a hose.

Then again. Were he a little more shameless, he'd be pulling Derek back into the woods himself. From afar, he can see Derek clapping Isaac's shoulder, and Lydia inspecting Jackson for any injuries the healer could have missed.

Apparently, cousins don't get gutted for hugging Mindy. Stiles watches as Lydia and the youngest of them all stay wrapped in each other a long time, speaking quietly to each other. Jackson even gets away with giving Hit Girl a brief squeeze, because he takes her by surprise after his girlfriend mollified the firecracker.

“Hold still,” aforementioned healer says. She's sweet. He tries for her. He even spares her his usual ramble about ADHD and how it's not even near the realm of possibilities.

Then again, they're people with superpowers and he just made out with Derek Hale, so maybe he should readjust _his_ definition of possible.

It's a singular sensation to feel energy from her seep into his body, and have it mend itself. From the tips of her fingers on his forehead, he can feel warmth spread, whirl and gather. Breathing suddenly comes easier, he assumes there aren't be any bruises left on his neck. His nose stops being painful and his hair stand on end at the sensation of the cut in his lip shrinking back and closing. It's like feeling it being torn slowly, but backwards. It's not painful, but... mentally upsetting. Next, she works on his arm. A simple touch has the gash close over, and he grinds his teeth together at the sensation of his shoulder popping back in.

She tuts him when he tries to move away as she removes her hand. “We're not done, cutie. Not by a long shot. Unless to want that rib to be set by surgery.”

“My rib?”

His eyes widen when she lifts his shirt and he finds his side has become one big bruise. Sure, he expected something like that tomorrow, but not so soon. She places her hand there, just touching with her fingertips again. “Ha!” he lets out quietly when the rib pops back. “Holy shit.”

She smiles, puts one knee on the floor and lifts his pant leg. There doesn't seem to be anything broken there, and her touch just spreads to ease tension and heal contusions. He feels his hurting muscles relax their presence fade away from immediate consciousness.

“There you go,” She says, extending her hand to him with a smile. Confused, not used to left-handed handshakes, he reaches out awkwardly, and yelps when he feels something snap back into place.

“You tricked me!” he accuses.

“Metacarpals sometimes aren't felt, but they become a world of trouble.”

Stiles nods and looks in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Her smile is bright and surprised. “You're welcome. You can go now, I promise no more surprises. From me, anyway.”

He chuckles and saunters off, feeling less battered, although just as bone weary as he was when he got here.

 

 

 

 

@@@

 

Mindy shakes his hand with a warm expression, and declares him kick ass. Coming from the person nicknamed Hit Girl, he thinks he can live with the compliment.

He makes a point to crush Isaac in his arms for the scare he gave the alpha team.

He gets a hug from practically all of the other girls he knows. Which is nice.

He really needs to write down all that's happened today so he doesn't forget anything, because almost getting killed, showing his power to someone, kicking some major ass, kissing Derek, jumping off a cliff, Derek kissing him, being hugged by Allison, Erica _and_ Lydia is starting to be a big much.

Lydia lingers and doesn't move on to the next person she's happy is safe. It seems she's saved Stiles for last. It fills him with a sense of foreboding that increases when she gives one of her patented I-own-you smile and beckons Derek over.

The older boy obliges, looking better without blood on his face. “Hey. Welcome back to civilization,” Stiles says, hoping to sound less awkward than he feels. He doesn't know what to make of this, whatever it is between them, yet, and doesn't know how to act around Derek without making him uncomfortable. He does that, make people uncomfortable. Right now, though, Derek simply looks puzzled, so Stiles reaches out, pinching the shirt that is now covering his torso between two fingers, and tugs.

“Oh. Right.” Derek shrugs. “I'll call myself civilized again once I'm showered and fed. I think I'll have to wait a little longer for that.”

Stiles frowns. They're expecting the choppers any moment.

“So!” Lydia interrupts. “A lot's happened today, what with all the 'oh my god we're going to die!' and 'oh my god we didn't!', but you two definitely win the hot new couple title.”

Stiles panics. Derek didn't try to make it a secret that he was hanging and talking to Lose-inski, but he may not want to-...

“Do not even try to pretend you two weren't just making out five minutes ago,” she admonishes. "Just watching the way you two look at each other makes me want to play Hungry Eyes." 

Stiles blinks, not daring to look at Derek and wishing for something to happen. Heck, even for a forgotten crazed escapee to charge them. “I'll take the fifth,” he blurts out, which, all in all, answers the question anyway.

“Pshh, you got stubble burn, honey,” Stiles pinks. Wait. Did the healer purposefully leave it?

Lydia is looking at Derek now. “He likes you very much, you know?”

“Oh my god, Lydia! Shut up!” Stiles hides his face and turns to walk off, but Derek's hand on his arm stops him. He stays, and Derek's fingers slip down to squeeze his wrist briefly. He misses the touch when it falls away, and finds himself swaying closer to him involuntarily. Derek seems to take it as encouragement and brushes a hand against the small of his back.

“Take good care of him," Lydia continues, eyes tracking their movements before she looks back at Derek. "Because he's my friend and I love him." She says it looking at Stiles. He's momentarily stunned quiet. "And because he's a genius, and if you hurt him..." Stiles cringes. "He probably knows how to make a body disapear completely. And I'll cover for his thoughts even if he's guilty." Derek's thumb stills against Stiles' spine for a beat.

Stiles feels oddly touched. It takes a real friend to help you cover up a murder. "Oh. Uh. Thanks, I think."

“You're welcome.” She beams and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I'll go tell Jax that we're going double next Friday.”

They exchange a look as she trots off towards Jackson, who's in deep reenactment with Scott and Isaac. “We're not your boyfriends!” Stiles yells after her as an afterthought.

“Huh?”

“She just booked us for a double date, Derek. I mean, Jackson, I get, but she can't-...”

Derek shifts feet, touch falling away with the movement. “Are you not okay with this?”

“What? No, I-...” Stiles shakes his head. “Dude, hell no. Put your hands back on me.” He ignores how it sounds because what came out is _exactly_ what he meant. “I just thought... maybe you weren't,” He says, showing his pit of self doubt and insecurity. “But hey, I was just saying Lydia shouldn't commandeer my Friday nights. It looks like I have a boyfriend of my own now. Maybe I want my dates to be only with him for a while.”

Derek smirks, eyes amused. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“I know. It's lame, but-...” Stiles trails off when Derek's fingers card through his hair at the back of his head and starts scratching.

“I like it,” he says in Stiles hair after Stiles stumbles forward and rests his head against his collarbone.

If he were anything like Erica, he'd be purring right now. “If you keep doing that, I'm going to start drooling.” Or maybe, with a little less audience, possibly hump his leg.

“We seem to have the same soft spot,” Derek states.

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles remembers, a smug smile stretching his lips against Derek's shirt.

They stay like that a moment, while the remaining of the injured get treated. – Man, that healer girl could make millions as a magic healer in the 'normal' world. – Stiles didn't think he'd be the kind to be into PDA, but today seems to be special for all of them. It might fade in the future if this thing last, with familiarity and self control, but he's been touch starved for so long – and thinking about it, Derek must have been too – he could stay like that until someone comes to carry them off on a stretcher back to the dorms.

Peter comes to tell them the choppers are on their way. Stiles pushes off of where he was about to dose off on Derek's shoulder. Peter doesn't hide his leer but doesn't comment, only delivers the news, pauses, and adds that he's glad everybody made it back. “I'm proud of you two. You fought well, both alone and within teams.” He shrugs and grins. “I'm not supposed to do anything with this but... they won't actually know if I bump up your grade, won't they?”

“Please don't,” Stiles says.

“Maybe, just-...” Derek intervenes. “No more trick assignments?”

Peter laughs. “Please, look at you.” He gestures to the lack of space between them. “I'm a genius!”

Derek ducks his head and huffs in laughter. They watch him go, joining the rest of the adults, both Squadron and BHA, until Derek tenses and pulls away from Stiles. “I gotta-...” Derek explains as he starts towards the group, and looks back towards Stiles. “Come on.”

Stiles follows, puzzled. He catches sight of Danny giving him two thumbs up and blushes. Then smirks when he notices a certain look of longing on Isaac, who's standing near the tanned boy. Stiles enjoys the look of confusion on the-boy-who-walks-through-walls' face when he returns the celebratory gesture. Isaac, though, understands, and scampers away quickly. What a day.

Derek stops when he reaches the teachers. He turns towards Sergeant Parker. “Hey. Serg., I heard Squadron 84 is around earlier. Are they still nearby, sir?”

Peter turns to them and gives a smirk that rivals with Lydia's. “Indeed, Derek. Why? Is there anything particular you'd want with-...”

“Oh, shut up,” Derek growls good naturadely at his uncle. Peter laughs. “Got someone to see. Can that be arranged?”

Something that Stiles is still missing seems to dawn on the Serg. “Yeah. No problem. I'll have Wu pop you in and back to school.”

“It's not too much trouble, is it?”

“You did us a great service today. Least we can do.”

“Cool, can we make a pit stop to Rome on the way back to school?” Stiles pipes up. “I hear the ice cream is different over there.”

Deaton and Parker laugh.

Stiles grins. “Fine. Maybe next time.”

While Parker radios in Wu – who must be the special that has teleportation skills – and Squadron 84 for position, Derek steps close to Stiles' back and slips his hands around his waist, pressing his nose and mouth in the still wet tangle of Stiles' hair. It's pretty intimate and it's also a way to whisper something to someone without looking like you're doing so. With the added bonus of not looking into their eyes if you don't like the reaction. “Wanna come with me?” Derek asks quietly. “She'd love you.”

Stiles knows Derek can hear his heart stutter at the realization and the implication.

Laura. He's going to see Laura? This is gr-... and he invited Stiles to come along?!

But... “Are you sure you want me here for this?” He has to ask. As excited – and alright, intimidated – as he is at the prospect of Derek being comfortable enough to introduce him to his sister, they've touched on the subject of her and Derek's history and he knows it's loaded.

“I am.” Derek assures him, squeezing a little. Stiles doesn't want to assume anything, but part of him wonders if Derek wants him there for comfort in case it doesn't go well or to give him courage. “But you don't have to,” Derek insists.

“Shush.” Stiles leans back against his – boyfriend's !! – chest. “If you want me there, you know I'm coming. I'm the cat curiosity hasn't caught up with, yet.”

It's a new sensation to feel someone laugh against his back. He could definitely get used to it

 

 

 

 

@@@

 

As soon as they get to the base camp, whatever spell they were under wears off and Derek's hands stop being so greedy. Whatever buzz of energy was going through all of them back on the field, it seems unreal now. Sometime later tonight, it's going to sink in properly, hit Stiles full force. What happened, what could have happened. They got thrown into the middle of the action, they got injured. They killed for survival.  _Stiles_  did. Everything will come crashing down on him and leave him a shaking mess. But now...

Now Stiles was just zapped somewhere else and it's like everything has been put on hold. He has tunel vision. He's here with Derek and they're going to see his sister. There is no time for 'earlier' or for processing.

Stiles can tell how nervous Derek and isn't sure what he can do about it. He settles for walking alongside him and shutting up, that alone taking a great deal of concentration. Both because it's not in his nature and because they're surrounded by novelty.

He watches some guy toast a slice of bread by hovering his hand above it and has to bite his tongue to keep from pointing it out. He'll definitely tell Scott about it later. He takes in people and their uniforms, guessing ranks and imagining powers according to modifications from standard like Peter and Derek's gear have.

When they arrive to a cross-path, Derek gestures to someone. “Staff Sergeant Hale?” he asks.

“Uh...” The guy seems confused to be talking to two kids. He's so unsettled that he forgets to ask what their business is or how they got here, probably trusting that they are even allowed here based on their uniform, and simply gestures them to a prefab station ahead of them.

Derek starts up again, but his pace is slower. He was stalking through the compound earlier, as if he was in a hurry or afraid he would change his mind, and now it's like the short halt has had enough time to have that effect. Stiles inches closer silently, making sure their shoulders brush a couple of times. Derek gives him a sidelong glance of acknowledgment.

They're here. The door is right there, and they're standing in front of it irresolutely. Derek raises his fist to knock then falters, letting it hover and fall back. “I haven't seen her in almost a year,” he tells Stiles with a frown that is both guilty and angry. Then he shrugs – shakes himself out of it? – and meets Stiles' eye with a look in them he's never shown before. “I'm so glad to be here.”

Stiles can't help the burst of warmth and feelings that rise like a tide into him, it spreads to his face in a smile. He reaches out gently, wrapping the ends of his fingers around the outside of Derek's hand as they stand facing each other. He squeezes encouragingly.

As he's about to step back and let go, Derek closes his hand and tugs him forward, locking their lips together. Stiles feels him move and his eyebrows shoot up – despite his eyes being unable to open, because, damn, Derek's mouth – when he hears a knock. Derek just knocked. And now brings his hand back to cup Stiles' face briefly and pulls away, leaving the teenager to gape and startle when the door almost instantly swings open.

The woman in uniform is a brunette, and her eyes are so blue there is no doubt on her identity, especially when they fall on Derek and she breaks into the most brilliant smile. “Der, hi! They radioed in that you were coming but I couldn't believe it until I saw you. Oh my god, look at you!” She beams, stepping down and placing her hands on his shoulders. Stiles thinks Derek blushes prettily.

“Hi.” He responds quietly and Laura eyes Stiles curiously. “Uh, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is Laura. My big sister.”

Stiles offers a polite greeting, which is returned with a frank smile and a warm handshake. Laura takes him in before her eyes dart back to Derek.

“I'm sorry but... Come here, baby bro,” She says, turning away from Stiles to pull her adorably scared looking brother into a bear hug. Knowing what he knows about the Hale genes, Stiles is pretty sure the embrace could literally crush bones. “I don't care if I'm being embarrassing. I missed you too much.”

Derek's face is conflicted for a moment, before he closes his eyes with a creased brow and presses the side of his head to his sister's, hugging back forcefully. “Missed you too,” he mutters.

He can't really look at Stiles' smile for too long. It's so full of warmth and pride and incredulous happiness, it feels like staring into the sun. Then again, Derek feels like he has been for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um... get it now? In chapter Eight, Scott finding out about Stiles' ability and singing Some Nights, by Fun. ?
> 
> I know. I'm a huge dork. But so's Scott. ;)


End file.
